Alan Tracy and the BoyWhoLived
by Tsukino Akume
Summary: Alan Sheppard defeated Voldemort by means unknown and was brought under Ministry protection. Now eleven years old and entering Hogwarts for the first time, Alan's about to learn that nothing is what it seems - not even himself.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer/:** We should all be very glad I don't own Harry Potter or the Thunderbirds, because Harry Potter is dark enough on its own, and I have **way** too much fun tormenting Alan Tracy.  
**Warnings/:** Blatant mangling of characters! Non-cannon timeline! OCs! Deatheaters are **NOT** always who you will expect!  
**Author's Notes/:** In all my wanderings through the Thunderbirds fandom and it's various crossovers and AUs, I noticed the only one I never came across that I'd expected to was Harry Potter. So of course, this led into creating my own crossover, despite the fact that I've already got a Harry Potter/Gundam Wing crossover in the works. -Glares at PlotBunnies-

Of course, pondering this crossover brought two immediate problems to my attention. First, that I would have to be careful not to turn the Tracys into a rich version of the Weasleys, because in my head, the two families are really similar. And second, the idea of Alan Tracy with magic immediately made him the new Boy-Who-Lived. I tried to ignore it, but I just kept coming back to the Tracys=Weasleys problem. So I gave up.

However! This is **not** going to be a cannon following. Alan **is** the new Boy-Who-Lived, but he is not replacing Harry. Nor is he replacing Ron. I went on a completely different spin with this, which **could** have worked without the Thunderbirds quotient, but again ... -Eyes Bunnies- All I ask is that you give it a chance before you judge. It may surprise you.

For the record, Alan's first year begins in 2007, as I decided to go with the Thunderbirds movie timeline for ages. I'll be using the descriptions from the TV show, but birth order will follow movieverse. This really hasn't affected anything beyond the days of the week for certain events.

Enjoy!

Prologue

"You can't do this!" an angry voice bellowed.

"You will find, Sir, that when it comes to the safety of the Wizarding World, we will do what is necessary," another voice returned coldly.

"I don't care about the Wizarding World! That's my son, and I won't let you take him!"

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. _Stupify!_"

There was a soft gasp that seemed impossibly loud in the tiny closet, and eleven-year-old Scott Tracy hurriedly muffled his younger brother Gordon's face in his shirt. He raised his eyes to meet his brother John's, biting his lip at the fear he saw there as John and their other brother, Virgil, clung to one another. Scott **wanted** to go out and stop them, to teach them a lesson for daring to touch his baby brother (the only thing left of Mom, and god, it _hurt_), but he'd promised his father they'd stay put. He promised to keep his brothers safe.

Closing his eyes tightly and hugging Gordon closer, Scott sent out a silent prayer. _Mom, if you're watching us ... Keep Allie safe. Just long enough for us to get to him._

He flinched as the ministry official hissed "_Obliviate!_"


	2. Alan Sheppard

Chapter 1: Alan Sheppard

When the letter came, the only thing unexpected about it was that it had managed to reach him at all.

He studied it carefully, checking for curses or tampering, and was even more surprised to discover no one had opened it yet. He was never allowed to open his own mail. His guards insisted on going through it first, as a precaution.

Nevertheless, there was a small letter under his door that morning that no one else had read. And it was addressed to him.

_ Mr. A Sheppard_

_ Room 216_

_ Davinshire Manor _

_ London_

He took a moment to marvel at it, studying the neat handwriting in emerald green ink, the perfectly formed, unbroken seal ... His fingers traced each animal of the crest, smiling faintly as he allowed himself to dream, just for a moment. Which house would he be in? He was smart, but he only studied because he had to. He worked hard, but that was because he had to, too. He was crafty, but that was a necessity. Brave? He could be brave. Sometimes.

Shaking his head, he took a deep breath, and broke the seal.

His fingers tingled with a spark of magic he wouldn't have been able to detect if he'd been anyone else. Someone wanted to make sure he'd gotten the letter, then. Did they actually expect him to accept?

_ HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_ Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_ (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_ Dear Mr. Sheppard,_

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_ Term begins September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_ Yours Sincerely, _

_ Minerva McGonagall_

_ Deputy Headmistress_

He smiled sadly. "Would help if I had an owl to reply with," he whispered wryly. "Not that they'd let me go anyway."

He sat down on his bed with a sigh, surveying his prison. Strictly speaking, it was a comfortable suite, complete with a double bed with lots of fluffy pillows, his own private bathroom, a small study filled with books, and even a shielded side room where he could practice magic. He had every luxury he could possibly imagine.

He'd have been happier living on the streets like a bum.

Heaving another sigh, he flopped back on the bed, raising the supply list to read it. He had everything he could need for the uniform, although it was a bit scuffed up from use. The books were all ones he'd read ages ago, so they were probably still in his study somewhere. The only thing he didn't have was a real wand instead of the toy practice wand he'd been using for years, and an owl. Or a cat. Heck, he'd even take the toad at this point.

His eyes fell to the warning against bringing his own broomstick and sighed, closing his eyes. A broom was one of the things he'd always desperately wanted, but was never allowed to have. He'd been told it was a security risk, but he knew the real reason was that they were afraid he'd use it to run away as soon as he learned how to fly it properly.

_Gee, you'd think they figure I'm unhappy or something_, he mused bitterly.

For as long as he could remember, Alan had lived in Davinshire Manor under the watchful eyes of the Aurors assigned to protect him, and his tutors. He spent his days studying, training, and being generally bored out of his mind. When he was younger, there had been testing days, when he would be lead down to a series of rooms while healers and Aurors and all sorts of specialists ran test after test on him, trying to figure out what made him tick. They'd eventually stopped for reasons no one had bothered to explain to him, and now he was only allowed out of his rooms to attend specific functions put on by the Ministry of Magic, where he would be paraded around like a prize owl. It made him sick.

The only good thing that came out of these Ministry excursions was first, the fact that he'd managed to escape the Manor at all, and second, the fact that it had led him to make friends. Not many, of course, but there were a few kids his age that were dragged to these stupid things. Blaise Zabini was a distant acquaintance, as was Pansy Parkinson, Greggory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe, but they were more the type he'd hang around because there was no one else to escape to. Blaise wasn't so bad, but Pansy was already after a husband, and Greg and Vince weren't the best for conversation due to the fact that they were usually eating.

Most of the time he'd escape with Draco Malfoy, and if he was lucky, the Potters. Draco was spoiled rotten and needed to be taken with a grain of salt, but Alan had been slowly working on his attitude over the years until it had come to a tolerable level. Harry Potter was always loads of fun to be around - unless he was bickering with Draco again - even if he did usually get them into trouble. Of course with Harry usually came his younger brother and sister, Roseanna and Everett, which tended to put a damper on things. And more recently they'd had Aurora Black trailing after Harry like an obedient pet, because for reasons unknown she seemed to have a crush on him. (Which Alan and Draco teased him for incessantly, of course.)

It wasn't so much that Roseanna and Everett, or even little Aurora, were that bad, exactly. He got along with them all well enough. It was something else, something he couldn't exactly explain. But whenever he saw Harry arguing with them, or watched the way Anna and Rett obviously adored their older brother, something inside him ached.

A sharp knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts.

Eyeing the clock, he frowned, wondering what they wanted now. It was too early for lessons, and there hadn't been anything else on the agenda today as far as he was aware. _Please don't let it be another function_, he groaned silently. _I like seeing Draco and Harry, but if I have to smile and nod at one more person who can't wait to shake my hand, I'll puke on their robes._

Slipping the letter into his pocket, he went to answer the door and blinked at the Aurors standing on the other side of it. "You're not my guards," he said warily, already shifting back on his foot to reach for his wand.

"Easy there," the man on the right soothed. "We mean no harm."

"We just wanted to make sure you received your mail all right this morning," added the one on the left, giving him a wink.

He blinked.

Taking a moment to study them warily, he finally stepped back, gesturing them inside. "Won't you come in?" he invited formally. In his head he was swearing at his etiquette teacher for brainwashing him. He couldn't even greet suspicious strangers like a normal person anymore.

The two men slipped inside, and he frowned as he shut the door. "Wait a minute ... I know you two," he said slowly. "You're Sirius Black and James Potter, right? Harry and Aurora's parents."

James Potter, who he felt stupid for not noticing earlier considering how much he looked like Harry, smiled at him. "That's right."

Sirius Black frowned. "And how do you know my Aurora?" he asked suspiciously. "She's too young for you."

James rolled his eyes. "Siri, she's five. She's too young for **everyone**."

Alan fought not to gag at the implication. "She follows Harry around at the Ministry functions I've seen her at. That's where I met her," he explained. He shook his head, looking at them both skeptically. "Now why are you here?"

"First of all, we were sent to make sure that you received your Hogwarts letter," James told him, elbowing Sirius into silence. "And we wanted to know if you had a reply."

Alan stared at him blankly. "Are you daft? Of **course** I want to go. Why the bloody hell would I want to stay here?"

James tried not to smile as Sirius looked around. "I don't know," Sirius drawled. "Looks like a pretty nice setup to me."

"It's supposed to," Alan retorted flatly. "The Ministry doesn't want anyone to think they're abusing The BWL."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "BWL?"

"Boy-Who-Lived," Alan translated, rolling his eyes at the title.

James frowned. "They're not abusing you, are they?"

Alan shrugged. "No, not really. They keep me fed, watered, and healthy. And sometimes I get out on good behavior just long enough to show everyone how powerful the Ministry is." He batted his eyelashes in mock-innocence, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

James winced. "I see."

Alan sighed, forcing another shrug. "They're not mean to me or anything. I'm their prize possession, so they can't afford to let me be hurt."

"Or let you out of their sight, right?" Sirius offered knowingly.

He nodded, reaching up to run a hand through his hair irritably. "Anyway, I'd love to go to Hogwarts. But I can't," he sighed. "There's no way the Ministry would ever release their claws long enough to let me go."

"Don't worry about the Ministry right now," James replied, smiling mysteriously. "We'll handle that. We just need to know if you **want** to go to school at Hogwarts. There's always other choices - "

But Alan was already shaking his head. "Durmstang's curriculum is too rigid. There's no room for improvement. Beauxbaxton's is too focused on making everything look 'pretty'. I've had enough of pretty to last me a lifetime," he added, scowling at the room. "And as tempting as going to school in another country might be, it's not really practical." He shrugged again. "Besides. They told me my mother went to Hogwarts."

James' expression seemed to soften. "She did," he agreed quietly. "She was something else. A force to be reckoned with, your mother."

Alan eyed him. "You knew her?" he asked carefully. Everyone claimed to know 'of' Lucille Sheppard, but from what he'd gathered, very few actually **knew** her. He knew enough about her to know that he looked just like her, and that she'd died the night he became the BWL.

James swallowed. "Not well enough," he confessed. "I doubt anyone's told you this, but ... she was my cousin."

Alan blinked. "She ... was?"

He nodded. "First cousin. Her mother was my father's younger sister. She was nearly ten years older than me, so we never met much beyond family gatherings, but we always got on well. She was ... " he paused, and another soft smile touched his lips. "Lucy was fire and thunder and hell's fury when you made her angry. But she could be the sweetest girl you ever met at the same time. She loved children. Always said she wanted a full brood." The smile turned ironic. "She wanted a daughter, but she never did get one."

Alan was quiet, digesting his words. It was the most anyone had ever told him about his mother. "Thank you," he said finally.

James' eyes cleared, and he offered a sad smile. "I wish I could tell you more."

Alan closed his eyes, forcing back his emotions before looking up at the man again. "Me, too," he admitted softly.

There was an awkward silence, and at last Sirius cleared his throat loudly. "So. You want to go to Hogwarts," he said brightly. "That means we need to get your reply and ready it to send." He paused, a calculating expression on his face, and looked at James. "Why don't we just take him with us now? Save some trouble."

"Not a good idea," Alan said before James could answer, shaking his head. "If they see me gone, they'll flip. That'll bring them down on all of you, which is the last thing any of you need."

A hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked up into James' serious expression. "Alan, you're family. I'm not going to ignore you. If the Ministry's attacking you, they're attacking all of us." Guilt flickered in his eyes. "I'm just sorry it took me this long to get to you."

Alan shook his head. "It's not your fault," he said diplomatically. "They've been keeping me under lock and key."

Inwardly, he was raging. _You call yourself my family, but I didn't even know we were related until today! I __**know**__ you've seen me with Harry before, there's no way you couldn't have! Why the bloody hell do I matter to you __**now**__?!_

And then the answer dawned on him.

"You're right about not taking you with us now," James continued, looking unhappy. "We'll be able to sneak out your reply for you, but we're going to have to find a way to make sure the Ministry can't take you from Hogwarts after you're enrolled."

"What about summers?" Alan asked. "If I come back then, they'll never let me leave again."

James frowned. "We'll figure out something," he promised, squeezing Alan's shoulder again. "We've got Albus Dumbledoree and some of the best minds in the wizarding world on our side. Between all of us, we'll find a solution." He paused, his frown deepening as he stared intently into Alan's eyes. "I promise you, Alan. Now that we know where you are, we're not going to let them steal you away again."

Alan smiled weakly at him. It was a practiced smile, one of the ones he gave adults at Ministry functions who wanted to see a little boy they could fuss over. The one that always made them -

On cue, James gently tussled his hair and gave him a reassuring smile. "Do you need us to pick up your supplies?" he offered.

_How the hell else am I going to get them?_ Alan wondered sarcastically. Outwardly he gave James a wry smile. "I have everything except my wand. I don't think there's much you can do about that. But I appreciate the offer."

"We'd better get going," Sirius spoke up, eyeing the doorway.

James nodded, turning to hug Alan without warning. "Hang in there, kiddo," he said softly. "We'll be back to get you as fast as we can."

Alan forced himself to bring his arms up and hug the man back. "I'll be waiting," he murmured.

He watched them leave, quietly locking the door behind them and moving to hide his letter in a secure location. Just before he slid it into the fake drawer he'd created in his desk, he paused to study it one last time. _I wonder if Hogwarts wants the BWL, too_, he mused silently. _That's all anyone ever wants from me, after all._

Stashing the letter, he closed the drawer, took his wand, and headed off for his usual morning practice.

* * *

Miles away from Davinshire Manor, James Potter and Sirius Black Apparated into an open field, heading for the house just barely visible in the distance.

"He doesn't trust you," Sirius said abruptly, glancing at James.

"He doesn't trust anybody," James corrected with a quiet sigh. "That poor kid's been used for so long he doesn't believe in anyone but himself."

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

A hint of a smile touched James' lips. "Oh, I don't think it's us that needs to worry. I have a feeling someone else will be the one to get under Alan's skin."

Someone small and red-haired was sprinting across the field toward them from the house now, and James' smile widened in greeting even as his thoughts turned dark. _I just hope for their sakes he can get through. He's got a tough road ahead of him._

He wasn't entirely sure if he meant Alan, or the other boy he was thinking of.


	3. Scott Tracy

I can honestly say this is not what I wanted to do with Scott in this story. Originally I wanted to send him to Azbakan a la Sirius, because for some reason, the idea of Scott post-Azkaban intrigues me. Sadly, I was forced to give up this plot, because Scott would have been eleven when Alan became the Boy-Who-Lived. While still interesting, I can't imagine a logical reason why the Tracy family would let an eleven-year-old be their Secret Keeper.

-Sighs mournfully-

In the end, he's worming his little way into this in another form, which should be interesting, since I have no idea where he's going with this. -Eyes Scott and Alan Muses-

This speedy update is for BlackCrimsonLight, who is the reason I'm posting this story instead of just writing it for personal enjoyment. Hope you like it, hun. ^_~

Chapter 2: Scott Tracy

After over a month of waiting, Alan had come to the conclusion that Mr. Potter and Mr. Black had either been caught, or had completely forgotten about him. There had been no other letters, no surprises at his door, not even a slipped message. If he hadn't still had his Hogwarts letter, he would have thought he'd imagined it all.

He awoke early on the morning of August 31st, showering and dressing with his usual lack of interest, and nibbled at the large breakfast already waiting for him when he left the bathroom. Grabbing one of the books from the supply list he'd finally unearthed in his study, he flipped through it absently with a sigh. _I already know most of this anyway_, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the threatening feeling of disappointment. _It's not like Hogwarts could really have taught me all that much._

At last he closed the book, shutting his eyes against the sudden burning sensation. _That's why you can't trust anybody_, he told himself again. _They're all useless. And if they're not useless, they only want something from you in the end._

_No one ever wants __**me**__._

The sudden knock on his door was so soft he wasn't sure that he'd actually heard it.

He turned, blinking, and stared at the door, pumpkin juice forgotten in his hand. Then the knock came again, and he found himself hurrying to open it.

_I just don't want to get another lecture about how it's rude to keeping people waiting_, he decided, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart. _It's not because I'm actually expecting -_

Pulling the door open slowly, he blinked up at the faces on the other side.

James Potter smiled warmly at him. "Can we come in?" he asked, winking.

Blinking in shock, Alan stepped out of the way, gesturing wide. "Please do," he murmured. _They ... came? They actually came for me?_

And then he remembered why, and had to struggle not to sigh. _Of course they came. The chance to say they 'rescued' the Boy-Who-Lived? To say the Potters are __**related**__ to the Boy-Who-Lived? Why else would they be here?_

A third man slipped inside the room, and Alan blinked up at him. This man was tall, brown-haired, and serious-looking. Mr. Potter hadn't mentioned bringing anyone else -

And then the man turned to look at him, and Alan's breath caught.

There was no reason he should have known him. He'd never seen him before, as far as he could remember. But there was something in the man's blue eyes, something warm and familiar. And the way he was looking at Alan, like he **knew** him ...

Mentally shaking himself, he held in a derisive snort. _Of course he 'knows' you, genius. You're the BWL, remember? __**Everyone**__ 'knows' you._

Forcing a pleasant smile, he offered the strange man a hand. "I don't believe we've been introduced," he said politely. "I'm Alan Sheppard."

The man stared at him for a moment, something flickering in his eyes. Then he was shaking Alan's hand, his grip warm and firm. "Scott Tracy," he answered finally.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Alan returned automatically, wondering at the man's strange American accent. Then he frowned slightly. "Tracy ... you're ... from one of the Pureblood families, aren't you? I remember reading the name, but I don't believe I've ever seen you at a Ministry function."

His hand had been callused too, Alan noted. A rare thing for a Pureblood. Most of them had servants to do their labor.

The smile on Scott's face was bitter. "My family and the Ministry aren't exactly on good terms."

Alan raised his eyebrows. "Is that why you're here, then?" he asked calmly. He was nearing rudeness, but it was early, their appearance had rattled him more than he wanted to admit, and he was so _tired _of being used ...

Scott frowned. "What do you mean?"

"A chance to get back at the Ministry," he explained, already turning to gather his things. He nose twitched in annoyance as he noticed that Sirius had helped himself to his breakfast. "By taking the BWL from under their noses."

There was a long, awkward silence as he began pulling clothes from the wardrobe.

"Is that really why you think we're here?" James asked finally, his voice quiet and slightly hurt.

He shrugged. "Why else would you be?" he asked practically.

"Don't be rude, Alan," Scott said suddenly, his voice sharp. "We're trying to **help** you."

Alan turned with a sigh, narrowing his eyes slightly at the man's scowl. "Mr. Tracy, people have been trying to 'help' me all my life. While I appreciate your concern, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

For some reason, that made the man flinch slightly.

"So you've just been hanging around here for giggles, then?" Sirius drawled from where he leaned against the table. "No need for us to help you out. You're fine on your own."

"Sirius!" James snapped.

"No, really," Sirius insisted. "If **Mr.** Sheppard doesn't want our help, then why are we even here?"

For a split second, Alan felt a surge of fear. They wouldn't really leave without him, would they? They couldn't ... they **wouldn't** ....

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, giving them his best woeful little boy expression. He let his eyes water just enough to make it pitiful. "I'm just ... I can't believe I might actually be getting out of here. I really do want to go to school."

James bought into it instantly, his face softening. Sirius held out for a minute longer, but at last he had the 'you poor thing' look Alan had been going for. _Hook, line, and sinker_, Alan thought in satisfaction.

But when he looked at Scott, the man was watching him with an odd expression. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He seemed amused, if anything.

"Do you have everything ready to go?" Scott asked at last. "We'll need to be quick."

"Nearly," he admitted reluctantly. He hadn't **expected** them to actually come for him, but he couldn't help preparing just in case they really did. He'd been careful to leave his things in separate piles in different areas, to keep his guards from getting suspicious. "I need something to put them in, though."

"We brought a trunk," James assured him. He paused, frowning. "Sirius, leave that alone!"

Sirius looked up, blinking innocently with a piece of toast dangling from his hand. "But I'm **hungry** ... " he whined.

Alan shook his head, bemused at their strange behavior. All the adults he'd ever met were well, serious. Reserved. At best they were a little too eager to shake his hand or have their picture taken with him, but all in all, they weren't ... well, like this.

Scott followed him into the study, taking the stacks of books he gathered each time he picked up more. "You like to read?" he asked quietly, looking down at one of the titles that wasn't on the supply list.

Alan shrugged. "Well enough. There's not much else to do around here," he admitted.

"Must be boring."

He shrugged again, wondering why Scott was pretending to care. He didn't **seem** like one of the sycophants who loved to fawn in the presence of the BWL, but there were always some who defied the usual stereotypes. Maybe he was trying to be casual about it so he could act like he knew Alan the next time they met. Some were like that.

"You shouldn't manipulate people like that, Alan," Scott murmured suddenly.

Alan stiffened slightly. _How did he ... ?_

To his complete surprise, Scott actually *chuckled*. "I have some experience in seeing through that face. I've got four younger brothers, after all."

He glanced up, frowning at the slightly pinched look to Scott's eyes. He hesitated. "What's it like?" he asked awkwardly. He swallowed uncomfortably when Scott looked at him questioningly. "Having a - having siblings," he corrected himself.

Scott's eyes softened slightly. "Chaos," he said simply. "Everybody doing their own thing on their own time, and trying to coordinate all our schedules?" He shuddered theatrically. "Christmas presents are a **nightmare**."

Alan smiled a little, feeling sad. He never got Christmas presents. For all that the world adored the BWL, they always seemed to forget about him when the holidays came around.

He moved to take his letter from the secret drawer of his desk, smothering a sigh. He was asking too many questions as it was. There was no use wondering about what he could never have. He should accept that he was getting out of this bloody place and be grateful for it.

A hand touched the top of his head briefly, just barely brushing over his hair, and he stiffened.

"Let me make one thing clear right now, Alan," Scott said softly, so quiet Alan had to strain to listen. "I have absolutely no interest in the Boy-Who-Lived."

Alan swallowed, fighting to keep himself calm. "Then why are you here?"

There was a pause, and Scott let out a quiet sigh. "I can't tell you that right now. Just ... " He sighed again. "Just remember that, okay?"

Alan peered up at him warily though his eyelashes. Scott hadn't seemed like **that** type either, but you never knew ... "Will you ever tell me?" he asked cautiously.

"The moment I can," Scott promised, looking sincere.

Then he smacked Alan lightly upside the head. "And get your mind out of the gutter. I'm not into that kind of thing."

He turned back to the main room, leaving Alan to stare after him. Slowly he brought his hand up to touch the back of his head. _He hit me_, he realized, stunned at the implications. _No one ... no one's ever ... Is he not scared of me?_ he wondered, amazed at the very thought. _But everyone ..._

"Alan!" James called. "Get moving, lad! We've got to hurry if we're going to make a break for it!"

He shook his head, firmly pushing the mystery of Scott Tracy from his mind. "Coming!"


	4. Escape the Ministry of Magic

Plotting Alan's escape was harder than I thought it would be for some reason. I've also realized that I'm starting to like the characters in this universe, particularly Harry, Lily, and the Marauders.

THIS IS BAD. THIS IS VERY BAD. BAD THINGS HAPPEN WHEN I LIKE PEOPLE.

Chapter 3: Escape the Ministry of Magic

"Now here's the plan," James began once Alan's things had been swiftly packed into the trunk and the trunk itself shrunk and placed in James' pocket. "First of all, I'm lending - remember that Alan, **lending** - you my invisibility cloak. We're going to tuck you under it and have you follow along behind Scott. I'll be in the front, pretending to be giving him a tour of the manor if we happen to see anyone, and Sirius will be bringing up the rear behind you to make sure that no one steps on you by accident."

"That's not as funny as it sounds, trust me," Sirius promised him. "Happens more than you'd think, too."

"We're going to have to floo to the Ministry of Magic because that's the only way out of this place. Now this is where it starts getting tricky," James warned. "Before we leave here, I'm going to charm you to look like my son Harry. When we get to the ministry, you're going to slip out from under the cloak and meet up with my wife Lily. She works at the Ministry. She knows what's happening and she'll be waiting for you just inside the main passageway to the elevator. Then Lily's going to bring you **back** to us, pretending you're Harry and that I'd just dropped you off for lunch and now she's returning you."

"Wouldn't someone have seen us if we were having lunch together?" Alan interjected, frowning.

James grinned at him. "Ah, but they did!" he corrected, lifting a finger. "I **did** drop Harry off to have lunch with his mother. What they don't know is that while we're getting you out of here, Lily will be charming Harry to look like he's one of Scott's younger brothers. Scott will pick up Harry, and the five of us will be slipping off to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley so that we can get your wand. After that, we'll Apparate to Godric's Hollow, where you'll spend the night with the family and we'll get you onboard the Hogwarts Express in the morning."

Alan looked at him skeptically for several minutes. There were so many holes in this plan he didn't know where to begin. "How are we going to keep the Ministry from just taking me back?" he sked finally. "They'll only send some Aurors to the school to pick me up and arrest the lot of you for kidnapping."

Scott's expression tightened. "I'd like to see them try," he muttered darkly, earning an odd glance from Alan.

"Ah, now you see, that would be what took us so long to come back for you," James confessed, looking sheepish. "Finding legal council who doesn't cower in the face of the Ministry is rather tricky."

"The bottom line," Sirius interjected, "Is that James has claimed rights as your guardian through his relationship to your mother."

Alan stared blankly at James. "You did?"

James nodded, embarrassed. "We'll still need to do a blood ritual to prove it legally binding, but I've got the paperwork signed and ready. Once it's completed, we're going to have it announced to the papers." He winced. "I wish we could have avoided that one, but we need to be sure that everyone knows I'm responsible for you. That way if the Ministry tries anything, they'll have the whole of the wizarding world in an uproar."

After a moment, Alan nodded slowly. It was no less than he'd expected, really. "What happens if someone comes forward to contest it?" he asked finally.

James shrugged, seeming uncomfortable. "Well, the way we've done it, only someone with a closer blood relation to you could. Someone from your father's family would have to step up, and right now, that's really not an option."

Alan frowned. "Of course not. My father's dead," he dismissed.

"**What**?!"

He jumped, staring at Scott in wide-eyed surprise.

The young man was quite literally fuming, fists clenched in rage. "Who told you that?" he demanded, seething.

" ... Everyone," Alan offered uncertainly. "I mean, everyone knows that both of my parents were killed when You-Know-Who died. And as far as I was told, I had no other family. And even if I did," he added practically, "Why didn't they ever come forward to claim me?"

There was a long silence.

At last James cleared his throat. He hesitated briefly before crouching down in front of Alan, reaching up to place one hand on his shoulder. "Alan," he began softly. "I ... " He paused, bringing one hand up to push up his glasses and at his eyes. "Alan, you do have family," he said at last. "On your mother's side, you have me and my family. As for your father ... " He hesitated again.

Alan's eyes narrowed. "What about my father?"

"He's not dead, for one," Sirius spoke up, his voice uncharacteristically soft. There was something sympathetic in his eyes as he gazed at Alan, and it seemed out of place on his face.

Alan stiffened slightly. For a moment, he let the words wash over him, jaw working silently. " ... He's not?" he asked eventually.

It was impossible. How could his father not be dead? And if he wasn't, why hadn't he ever come to get him? He ... didn't he **want** him?

A thousand possibilities ran through his mind in an instant, and Alan had to fight to keep his emotions in check again. Had his father blamed him for his mother's death? Had he somehow been hurt in Voldemort's attack as well, something that prevented him from raising a child? Had he sold him to the Ministry, washing his hands of his son in favor of wealth or some other great prize?

Another hand squeezed his shoulder, a thumb coming up to rub the back of his neck soothingly. "Breathe, Alan," Scott murmured. "Calm down. It wasn't like that, I promise."

"How do you know?" he forced out, trying to keep from trembling.

"Because I know your father," Scott said calmly, his thumb moving in slow circles that for some reason, was beginning to make Alan feel rather sleepy. "And I know that he never willingly gave you up. He tried to fight them when they took you, and they _Obliviated_ him." He paused, and there was an odd quality to his voice that Alan couldn't place. "He hasn't come for you because he doesn't remember that you're his son."

The words were like a punch to the gut. Of all the possible scenarios that could have happened, that was ... Was ...

_Doesn't remember ... doesn't remember ..._

"I think," Alan said carefully, fighting the sudden prickling of tears, "I preferred believing he was dead."

He broke free from the hands on his shoulders, moving to check outside the door for anyone in the hall and discreetly wipe at his eyes. By the time he turned around James was shaking out a piece of strange, shiny fabric, Sirius was finishing off the last of his breakfast, and Scott was waiting patiently. His eyes flickered to Alan's, and the boy fought down a shiver. What **was** it about this man that seemed so familiar?

_He did say he knows your father_, he tried to remind himself, but that train of thought was so painful he immediately pushed it away to focus on the present. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

James smiled at him, drawing his wand and leveling it at Alan's face. "Hold still," he cautioned.

* * *

The escape from Davinshire Manor itself was surprisingly anti-climactic. Other than the back of someone's head and footsteps behind them moving in another direction, they saw no one on their way to the floo. Scott managed to snag Alan's hand under the cloak, tugging him into the fireplace beside him and holding fast as he cast the floo powder. "Ministry of Magic!"

Floo Travel, Alan decided shortly after he stumbled into the Ministry and nearly face-planted on the floor, was still a terrible method of travel.

The Ministry was crowded, which would work in their favor, but he couldn't help a sudden surge of nerves as he tried to locate the hall to the main elevator, and Lily Potter.

"Gordon!" he heard Scott call suddenly, and jumped.

To his utter relief, Scott was hurrying to meet with a red-headed boy just outside what looked to be the very hall he was searching for. As he passed them, he heard Scott lecturing about something to do with 'dangerous experiments' and 'could have killed yourself with a stunt like this!' The red-headed boy, who he assumed was actually Harry, looked appropriately cowed.

_Mr. Tracy must take his brotherly duties very seriously_, Alan mused.

He recognized Lily Potter vaguely from the Ministry functions he'd seen her at, though she looked vastly different in casual robes and no makeup. Somehow he thought she looked even better than he'd ever seen her in heels and dress robes, with her hair carefully styled. She was leaning against the wall just outside the elevator, her eyes carefully scanning the empty hall with perfectly measured lack of interest.

Taking one last glance to make sure there was no one else coming, Alan quickly slipped off the cloak and stuffed it into a pocket as best he could.

Lily's eyes lit up the moment she saw him, coming forward to greet him with a warm smile. "There you are!" she said gently, pulling him into a careful hug. "I was beginning to worry."

"I'm all right," he murmured, feeling awkward.

She stepped back to survey him critically and sighed. "Well, they're not starving you, at least. I suppose we can be grateful for small favors." Then her expression melted into another smile, and she wrapped an arm around Alan's shoulders, ignoring the way he stiffened. "Come on, then. I'm sure you'll be ecstatic to see the back of this place, hmm?"

_That's putting it mildly_. "Yes, Ma'am," he said dutifully.

She laughed softly, a gentle sound that sounded like bells. "None of that now. We're family. You can call me Aunt Lily. It sounds a lot friendlier than 'Ma'am'."

She did have a point, he decided, eyeing her. And the friendlier he seemed with these people, the longer they'd be willing to protect him from the Ministry. He offered a slight, shy smile. "Thanks, Aunt Lily."

She winked at him, squeezing his shoulders. "That's better. Now then, we'd better catch up with James and Sirius."

She hustled him out of the hall, making a great show of lecturing James for being late and ignoring his sputtering that he'd done no such thing. Then she rounded on Sirius, insisting he was supposed to help keep James on track. Sirius blinked at her uncomprehendingly, and at last she huffed, throwing her hands on her hips. "Honestly. Why do I even bother," she muttered.

"No idea, Lily-Love," Sirius returned brightly. "To be honest, I've often wondered the same thing."

She scowled at him, then at James when he fought to hide a smile.

"James," Scott greeted as he joined them, one hand firmly wrapped around Harry's arm. "Much as I hate to cut this short, we need to hurry and get the last of Harry's things so I can get this menace home before he hurts himself."

Sirius frowned down at Harry. "Gordon, did you shrink?" he asked, sounding puzzled. "I could have sworn you were taller than that."

Harry coughed, looking guilty. "Potions misstep." He flashed an innocent look.

"I see," Sirius returned, clearly fighting a smile.

Lily elbowed him sharply. "Don't encourage him," she hissed. "You're a terrible influence."

Alan tried not to frown at how casual they all were with each other. Just how well **did** Mr. Tracy's family know the Potters, anyway?

"Well, we'd better get on then," James said quickly. "See you tonight at home, dear." He leaned in to give Lily a quick kiss.

Harry made a face, and Alan immediately copied it.

"All right, then. Move along now boys, move along. Nothing to see here," Sirius declared, putting a hand on Alan and Harry's shoulders and ushering them to the fireplaces.

Behind them, Alan could hear Lily laughing. But all he could focus on was the fireplace in front of him. The last door to freedom.

Heart pounding as he accepted the floo powder, he watched Sirius leave. Glancing briefly at Harry, who offered him a secret, encouraging smile, he threw his powder at his feet. "The Leaky Cauldron!"

Luckily for Alan, this time Sirius caught him when he came flying out of the fireplace. "All right there, Harry?" he asked, looking concerned.

"Tripped," Alan mumbled, looking embarrassed. Harry had an issue with looking incapable of doing anything. Draco loved to poke fun at him for it, despite the fact that he was the same.

"I see," Sirius returned, trying not to smile.

He looked up as Harry came through, and Alan used the moment of inattention to survey his very first sight of the world outside the Ministry of Magic.

It left a lot to be desired.

For such a famous place, the Leaky Cauldron was dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking from tiny glasses. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped briefly to survey the group as they arrived before dismissing them and returning to their own business.

He was startled out of his disappointment by a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see James smiling down at him. "Come on, son. Let's get this done quickly and head home. Heavens know what your siblings have gotten up to while we're gone."

"Can't be anything good," Alan offered, giving one of Harry's trademark lopsided smiles. A glimmer of amusement in his eyes made it the one Harry usually used when thinking of his younger brother and sister.

"We can only hope!" Harry said brightly, giving a brilliant grin. He caught sight of Scott scowling at him and ducked, looking down at his shoes as if trying to pretend he was ashamed of himself.

In spite of himself, Alan wondered just what this brother of Scott's was like. He seemed to get into trouble a lot. More than that, he seemed to enjoy it, judging by Harry's intrepretation. Which wasn't much different than Harry himself, now that he thought about it ...

"Come on, you," Scott growled, looking irritated as he grabbed Harry's arm and hustled him along again.

James wrapped an arm around Alan's shoulders, walking beside him as Scott and Harry led the way outside, Sirius bringing up the rear once again. They made their way through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Scott went straight up to the wall behind the trash can, pulling out his wand. He stared at it for a moment, working his way up, then tapped the wall three times with the tip of his wand.

The brick he had touched quivered, wriggled, and slowly began to move. The entire wall of bricks began to carefully restack themselves, creating a large archway. Through the arch, Alan could see a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.  
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Alan," Harry said softly, turning to grin at the look on Alan's face.

Alan took a deep breath, steeled himself, and stepped through the archway, ready to taste the sweet smell of freedom.


	5. A Wand and an Owl

I semi-stole the slogan for the TLC channel. ... At least I think it was TLC. I could be wrong, since I haven't watched TV in ages. -Shrugs- Feel free to correct me.

If I could have named Alan's owl after the Thunderbirds, I totally would have. But it's an owl. And TB sounds like a disease. So I improvised.

Also, if anyone with artistic skill can draw me Alan getting his wand, I will sing your praises and endorse you and love you forever. I can totally see it in my head, but my fingers won't cooperate. -Glares at hand-

Chapter 4: A Wand and an Owl

While the actual smell of freedom left much to be desired, there was so much to see that Alan couldn't care less. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. Most of the items being sold were nothing he hadn't seen before, but he'd never actually seen them for sale; they'd always been brought to him. And the people, oh, the _people_. So many all at once, moving in multiple directions and dressed in all sorts of styles and colors. There was more variety on one street corner than he'd ever seen at any Ministry function.

He let James steer him along, listening intently to everything being said around him. A woman complaining about the price of dragon liver. A group of boys whispering excitedly about the newest broom. Another woman, looking quite harassed, was muttering to herself about her shopping list, only to snap at her impatient daughter that no, she wasn't old enough to go yet. A small boy trailed after an older man, begging for ice cream. A teenager leaned against a corner of a building, reading a book while obviously waiting for someone.

It was life unscripted, and it was wonderful.

"Gordon and I need to make a quick stop," Scott called back suddenly. "We'll catch up with you at Ollivander's, okay?"

James nodded. "Don't be long!" he warned.

"Ah, I need to make a brief stop myself," Sirius confessed, glancing at something in the distance before looking back at them with a shifty expression. "I'll catch you up in a few minutes."

James sighed, rolling his eyes. "Stay out of trouble."

Sirius looked insulted. "Just who do you think you're talking to, James?" He paused. "Don't answer that."

Alan snickered as Sirius hurried away without another word, glancing up at James. "So where **are** we going?" he ventured hesitantly.

"Ollivander's Wands," James answered, pulling him out of the way of a young couple who didn't seem to care who they ran over. "It's the only place in London for wands, and Mr. Ollivander makes the best."

Alan swallowed, feeling nervous all over again. A real, honest-to-magic wand. He couldn't wait.

The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair left to one side for people waiting. Alan was reminded of one of the main libraries in Davinshire Manor, the one he was only allowed in after he'd run out of things to read, and only with supervision. He swallowed down his questions and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled nearly right up to the ceiling. The hair on the back of his neck tingled at the feeling of old, powerful magic running through the entire building.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice.

Alan spun, reflectively moving into a protective stance in front of James. Silently he cursed himself for leaving his sword packed in the trunk. His hand reached back for his toy wand. It may not be real, but an intruder wouldn't know that.

The old man in front of him seemed almost amused. His wide, pale eyes shone like moons through the gloom of the shop.

Alan slowly lowered his hand, feeling slightly embarrassed at his reaction. "Hello," he said awkwardly.

"Ah, yes," said the man, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Alan ... Sheppard, isn't it?" He hmmed thoughtfully. "You look just like your mother. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Cherry and dragonheart string, twelve and a half inches. Strong, sturdy. Excellent for Transfiguration."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer, and Alan had to fight not to attack him after all. He wished the man would blink. Those silver eyes were unnerving.

"And that's where ... " He reached out, pointing a long finger to the lightning-bolt scar on Alan's forehead. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands ... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do ... "

He shook his head then, and to Alan's relief, focused on James instead. "James Potter," he greeted warmly. "How is young Harry enjoying his new wand?"

"Can't hardly get him to put it down," James said with a smile. "Lily threatened to take it from him until he gets on the train."

Mr. Ollivander chuckled softly. "Ah, yes. So inquisitive, that Mr. Potter." At last he turned his attention back to Alan. "Well now, Mr. Sheppard. Let me see. Which wand is your wand arm?"

"Right," Alan answered immediately, offering it to him.

Mr. Ollivander promptly went about measuring Alan's arm, and other various parts of his body that he had no idea how they could possibly have anything to do with his wand. Then Mr. Ollivander began to move about the shelves, letting his tape measure continue on its own before at last declaring that was enough. Approaching Alan with a pile of boxes, he held one out to him with a slight smile. "Beechwood and dragonheart string. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Alan went through what felt like hundreds of wands, and still Mr. Ollivander never seemed to be satisfied. Scott and Harry joined them bearing an owl in a cage, Harry grinning wildly while Scott seemed pleased about something, and sat down to wait with James. Harry was quick to assure Alan that he'd taken a long time to find the right wand, too.

More wands came and went, and eventually Sirius returned with ice cream cones for everyone. Alan stood with his in his left, happily inhaling it while he continued to use his right to wave around whatever wand Mr. Ollivander happened to stick into it. Ice cream was something he'd had only at the rarest of Summer functions, and he'd fallen in love with the treat instantly. But then, he never did get many sweets to begin with.

Alan barely heard Mr. Ollivander muttering "Mahogany and phoenix feather, twelve and a quarter inches. Pliable," before another wand was shoved into his hand. He waved it absently and was startled at the burst of red and gold fireworks that appeared, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. Harry cheered, while James, Sirius, and Scott all clapped.

"Oh, bravo!" Mr. Ollivander cried. "Yes, indeed, oh, very good. I should have expected that one," he declared, shooting an odd look at Scott that Alan barely caught. Scott didn't seem to notice.

James promptly paid seven galleons for Alan's new wand as it was boxed up for him, ignoring Alan's protests. "I'm your guardian, Alan. It's the least I can do," was all he would say.

Harry grabbed Alan's arm, pulling him around to give him a bright grin that was odd to see on a face that wasn't one he knew. "We've got a surprise for you, Alan!" he crowed.

Alan blinked. "A surprise?" he echoed uncertainly.

"Consider it a very belated birthday gift," Scott spoke up, holding out the cage with the owl in it.

Alan stared.

For a moment, he stood frozen, unable to believe this was actually happening. His heart began to pound, and for a brief second he worried that he was honestly about to cry. "For ... me?" he whispered. He looked up slowly and saw Scott's confused expression. Forcing himself to swallow, he tried to explain. "No one's ever ... I've never gotten ... "

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as he reached out at last with trembling fingers to take the cage.

She was beautiful. White feathers surrounding a moon-shaped face, golden and brown feathers sprinkled over her back. She tilted her head as she stared back at him, hooting softly, and he smiled.

"Well, then. I'm sorry to ask this of you, Mr. Ollivander, but would it be all right if we Apparated straight home from your shop?" James asked politely. "We'd like to avoid attracting any attention as best we can, you see."

Everyone's eyes flickered to Alan, who pretended not to notice, too fascinated with his new owl.

"Of course, of course. Feel free," Mr. Ollivander said immediately. "Good luck with that new wand, Harry," he added, giving Alan another look.

Scott stood up, placing a hand on Alan's arm. "I'm going to Side-Along Apparate you, Alan," he said softly, leaning in close. "You might want to close your eyes. It can be a little weird on the first time."

Alan looked up at him warily, tightened his hand on his owl's cage, and nodded. "I'm ready," he said firmly.

Apparation, Alan decided shortly afterward while trying to keep his stomach in one place, was bloody awful. Possibly even worse than floo travel.

* * *

"Now I know you boys are excited, but I want you to **sleep** tonight," Lily warned Alan and Harry as they climbed into bed. Or in Alan's case, the bed that had once been a chair kept in Harry's room for specifically this purpose.

"We will, Mum," Harry promised.

She gave them both a skeptical look. "Mm-hmm. Good night, boys." She kissed first Harry's forehead, then Alan's, ignoring Harry's immediate complaint. "Sweet dreams."

"Night, Mum," Harry sighed.

"Good night, Aunt Lily," Alan put in politely.

The silence lasted for a solid minute after she'd shut the door before they each rolled over to look at each other. "Why did she wish us sweet dreams?" Alan wondered quietly.

"It's a Muggle thing," Harry explained, used to Alan's confusion about many things he considered normal. "It's a way of saying sleep well, and I hope you don't have any nightmares."

"Oh." Alan digested this for a moment. "Exactly how well does your family know Mr. Tracy?" he asked suddenly. It had been bugging him all night, from when they'd arrived at Harry's house and all through dinner as Scott joined them, looking as if he belonged there.

Harry blinked at him in the darkness. "He's my cousin."

Alan frowned slightly. "But I thought your father said I was your cousin."

"You are," Harry said patiently. "You can have more than one. I have you, and then I have Scott, John, Virgil, and Gordon from the Tracys."

His frown deepened. "So ... does that mean that I'm related to them?"

Harry shrugged a shoulder. "You might be. I'm not sure. You'd have to ask Dad. Most of his family died when I was just a baby, so I've never met any of them."

Alan was quiet, thinking of the way Scott's eyes had lingered on him for a moment before he'd finally flooed home. "Does ... Mr. Tracy know me?"

"I dunno. I've never really asked."

They were quiet for several more minutes.

"What do you think Hogwarts will be like?" Alan asked finally.

Harry grinned in the dark, rolling onto his stomach and putting his chin in his hands. "Oh, I bet it'll be loads of fun. My dad's told me all sorts of stories about what he and my uncles used to do when they were there."

Alan tilted his head curiously, hesitating before forcing himself to ask. "Will we stay together?"

Harry's grin softened into an understanding smile. "Even if we get sorted into different houses, you'll still be my friend, Alan," he promised solemnly. "I'll always be around when you need help."

Alan swallowed. Harry was one of the only people who had ever taken the time to really know him. He was one of the few who knew how awkward Alan was in social situations, and how hard it was for him to talk to people. He could tell them what to do sure, and put on a show to command their attention when needed, but when it came to actually holding a real conversation about things that mattered, no one had ever really taken the time to teach him how.

He could fence, throw a punch, and knew his way through magical theory backwards and forwards. He could charm, plot, and manipulate people to see whatever he wanted them to. The one thing he'd never been taught was how to be a kid.

"Are you scared?" he whispered into the darkness.

"Yes," Harry admitted after a pause. "My dad's practically infamous at Hogwarts. The teachers are probably plotting out my detentions before I even set foot inside. And my mum was top of her classes, too." He let out a long sigh. "I'm afraid I won't measure up."

Alan swallowed again. _I wish I had someone to measure up to._

"But we'll get through it, together," Harry declared finally. "And Draco will be there. He told me he'd meet us on the train."

"How long are you two planning to fight for?" Alan asked warily. He didn't really mind Harry and Draco's constant bickering, but even he could only listen to it for so long.

Harry snickered quietly. "We'll try to be good, I promise."

Alan hmmed disbelievingly. He'd withhold judgment until they actually managed it.

"What are you going to name your owl?" Harry asked suddenly. He'd already proudly showed off his own owl Hedwig earlier, and the two had seemed to get along well enough.

Alan was silent for a minute. "Lucy," he said at last. "After my mother."

Silence.

"That's a pretty name," Harry whispered. "Good night, Alan."

"Good night, Harry."


	6. The Train to Hogwarts

For those who are confused, since Harry grew up as a wizard in this universe, a lot of things in his life won't be the same. For one, he and Draco have been forced to tolerate each other at various social functions for years, long enough that they've become friends - mostly for Alan's sake. They still annoy the hell out of each other, but there's a certain lack of venom underneath.

Also, Harry with a happy childhood means there's a lot of people he didn't meet, people he did, and a lot of things that changed. Those changes are about to become much more obvious.

Chapter 5: The Train to Hogwarts

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was amazing, Alan decided, gazing around in awe.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people, a sign overhead reading Hogwarts Express, eleven O'clock. Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a very disgruntled sort of way over the babble and scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already filling up with students, some hanging out of the windows to talk to their families, some putting their trunks away overhead, some fighting over seats. Alan pushed his cart bearing his trunk and owl along after Harry, searching for a seat. He wondered if Draco was here yet. Harry had said he would be.

They passed a round-faced boy searching for a toad that Alan thought looked rather familiar, and a boy with dreadlocks surrounded by a small crowd and holding a box that made the people around him shriek. A group of redheads - the Weasley family if he remembered correctly - were being lectured by their mother. The youngest boy was apparently under some sort of attack against his face, and was struggling.

"Harry! Alan!" a familiar voice shouted.

Alan turned, brightening as Draco Malfoy hurried toward them. "It's good to see you, Draco," he greeted formally.

"Hey, Draco," Harry echoed absently, grabbing his owl's cage as his cart wobbled slightly. Hedwig hooted at him indignantly.

Draco brushed off their greetings with a nod. "I've saved us a carriage at the end," he announced. "Come on." He paused as he turned, frowning at their carts. "Don't you have servants to deal with your luggage?" he demanded.

"Yes, I do," Harry returned solemnly. "They're called my parents."

He ducked as a hand lightly smacked him upside the back of the head. "Not funny," James warned, but he was obviously fighting a grin. "Hello, Draco. Excited?"

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Draco returned with the polite smile he reserved for adults. "Yes, very much so. I'm looking forward to learning a lot."

"Children these days," moaned Sirius as he joined them, shaking his head in mock-horror. "Looking forward to **learning**? That's not what school is for!"

"And just what is it for, then?" Lily asked behind him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Sirius gave her an innocent look. " ... Making friends?" he offered tentatively.

She smiled wryly, reaching up to pat his head. "Good boy."

James burst out laughing, and Sirius scowled.

"There you all are."

Alan looked up in surprise as Scott joined them. "Hello, Mr. Tracy," he said politely. "What are you doing here?"

"Seeing my younger brothers off," Scott returned with a smile. "They're Hogwarts students, too. Need a hand with that?" He reached for Alan's trunk, lifting it as though it had a featherlight charm on it - which Alan knew quite well that it didn't. "Where are you boys sitting?"

"Last carriage on the left, Sir," Draco told him politely. "My things are already in there."

Scott nodded and went off, leaving Alan blinking after him.

Harry laughed at the look on his face. "Scott likes to help people," he explained. "His whole family's like that."

Alan frowned slightly. "Why?"

Harry shrugged. "They just are."

Draco looked like he was about to add something, but he glanced at the Potters and Sirius and went quiet.

"Let's get you loaded up too, shall we?" James commented to Harry, grabbing one end of his trunk. "Give me a hand, would you Sirius?"

Sirius obediently moved to lift the other side, and between the two of them they managed to wrestle it onto the train.

Harry turned to smirk at Draco. Draco snickered.

"Stop that, you two," Lily warned, but she was grinning, too. She stepped forward, hugging first Alan, then Harry. "You boys be good and study hard, you hear? And I expect to be getting lots of owls about everything that's going on. Once a week minimum."

"Yes, Aunt Lily," Alan promised.

"Sure, Mum," Harry agreed, hugging her back briefly. Then he turned to grin at Roseanna and Everett, who were hanging around just behind her with Aurora. "Come here, midgets."

They attacked him from either side, Anna already sniffling as Harry hugged them tightly. Rett was obviously trying to keep a brave face, but his lower lip was trembling slightly. "We'll miss you, Harry!" Anna cried.

"Promise you'll write lots?" Rett added, looking hopeful.

"Every chance I get," Harry assured them, ruffling their hair. He turned to Aurora with another smile, holding out his arms.

She promptly burst into tears and threw herself at him.

Alan looked away, feeling uncomfortable.

For a moment, he watched the people around the platform. There were parents were hugging children who were more in a rush to leave than accept the attention. Students were greeting each other eagerly after a long summer apart. Nearby he could even see a few people whispering and pointing at him. Or more specifically, at his forehead, where his scar could clearly be seen.

In the distance, he could see a young blond man hugging tight to a pair of teenagers. He was too young to be their father; maybe an uncle? He didn't really look like either of them, though. One had brown hair, the other red. But they embraced warmly, as if they never wanted to let go, and he could see the man talking softly to them. Unlike most of the other children about to board the train, they didn't seem to mind the open affection he bestowed on them.

He swallowed hard.

"All set, Alan?"

He started, turning to look up at Scott as the man appeared behind him. "Um. Yes, Sir," he managed, tightening his grip on Lucy's cage. "All set."

Scott looked at him for a moment with an odd expression. "Good luck," he said at last. "Study hard. And don't let anybody get to you, all right?"

He nodded. "I'll do my best, Mr. Tracy."

Scott seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he reached out, setting a hand on Alan's head and tussling his hair gently. "You can owl me if you need anything," he offered quietly.

Alan stared at him, confused. "Thank you, Sir," he said uncertainly.

Scott let out a quiet sigh, giving him a sad smile. "Goodbye, Sprout," he murmured, and turned away.

Alan frowned as Harry caught his arm and began to drag him onto the train as it whistled, waving absently to his parents. _Sprout?_ Alan wondered. _I'm not a plant. What was that about?_

Behind him, he never saw the broken look on Scott Tracy's face as Harry dragged Alan along. Nor did he see the blond man he'd been watching join the group, wrapping an arm around Scott's shoulders and talking softly to him. And he never saw the way the Potter family moved to comfort them both.

* * *

The train ride was fairly quiet. Draco and Harry introduced Alan to a game called Exploding Snap, which Alan quickly became very good at. Draco complained of course, but Harry informed him it wasn't Alan's fault he couldn't bluff for anything. They treated Alan to the snack cart when it came through, eager to introduce him to all different sorts of candy he'd never had before. He was particularly fascinated by Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Jelly Beans, and liked trying the flavors that Harry and Draco refused to touch.

Lots of people wandered by, trying to get a look at Alan after a rumor had been spread that the Boy-Who-Lived was on the train, but Harry and Alan made a point to ignore them all. Draco contented himself with giving scathing insults to drive them away, and more than one person left near tears. Harry told him not be so mean, which lead into another one of their arguments about what was being rude and what was going too far.

Alan tuned them out, watching the countryside go by in rapt fascination. He'd never seen so much green outside of a picture before. His eyes widened in amazement at seeing real cows and sheep, and he wondered what it would feel like to touch one.

They changed into their robes as it began to get dark, and Draco frowned at the scruffy state of Alan's. "You look like a beggar," he declared, wrinkling his nose. "Why didn't you get any new robes?"

"Don't have any money," Alan returned practically, shrugging.

Harry frowned at him, too. "You could have said something. Mum and Dad would have gotten you new ones," he scolded.

He shook his head. "I didn't want any."

"Well, why not?" Draco demanded, scowling. "You deserve to have the best. You're the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, after all."

"Exactly."

Draco frowned again. "I don't follow."

"Everything I've ever been given is the best of the best," Alan explained. "Always the best for the BWL. But I don't **want** the best. I want to be - " He faltered, looking down at his dingy, tattered robes and smiling at little at them. "They're ordinary," he said finally, his voice soft.

Draco stared at him blankly, until Harry elbowed him in the ribs. "As long as you're happy, that's what matters, Alan," Harry assured him, ignoring Draco's glare.

Draco sniffed. "You're both nutters. I don't know why I bother to hang around you."

"Because without us, your life would be boring," Harry predicted, throwing an arm around the other boy's shoulders.

"Or at least you would never would have been nearly thrown out of a Ministry function," Alan offered with a smile.

Draco humped, folding his arms. "You're a terrible influence on me. No wonder Father hates you both."

"Your father hates **me**," Harry reminded him dryly. "He keeps pretending I'm the one who causes all the trouble, so he can encourage you to be friends with Alan."

"But you're half the reason we have so much fun," Alan protested.

A very small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Draco's lips. "I hate you both," he announced.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

"You might want to get over that soon," Harry informed Draco. "We've still got to get Alan into the school."

Alan sighed quietly, glancing at the door where another pair of eyes were trying to peer at him from around the shade they'd pulled down to prevent being gawked at.

"You two had better appreciate this," Draco grumbled. "I'm expecting some bloody brilliant Christmas presents this year, you understand."

"Of course, Draco," Harry promised, patting his arm placatingly.

Alan wondered how he was supposed to be expected to buy Christmas presents when he didn't have any money.


	7. The Vow

-Giggling hysterically- Alan's a revolutionist!

Okay, I so didn't actually plan this originally. I have Alan as being friends with the group he is because they're the type he would have seen at all the big Ministry parties. Unfortunately, since Alan doesn't have a lot of friends, I realized he really wouldn't like the idea of being separated from the few he has. So I started writing, and the next thing I knew, Alan and Harry are creating a small semi-revolution among the first years.

The personalities I've chosen for Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, and Greggory Goyle are very deliberate. Slytherins are supposed to be cunning and ambitious - which means they're not necessarily sorted there just for being Purebloods. After a great deal of thought, I've given them all personal ambitions and reasons for things they do that I'd like to think are at least somewhat original. Draco, on the other hand, while ambitious, is still an arrogant little prat. -Grins at him fondly-

Chapter 6: The Vow

Surprisingly, getting into Hogwarts turned out to be easier than Alan had expected. The few friends he'd made over the years at various Ministry functions gathered around him protectively, preventing anyone from getting close enough to speak to him. Vincent and Greg were excellent at looking intimidating, and Draco's mouth chased away anyone else. Pansy batted her eyelashes at Alan and Harry and went on and on about her summer since she'd seen them last, keeping other students from getting a word in edgewise. When the large, shaggy man called for no more than four to a boat, Blaise was quick to step in with Alan, Draco, and Harry.

Alan was more than a little grateful for their intervention.

He'd seen pictures of Hogwarts of course, but there was nothing quite like seeing it for himself. The lights in the windows gave it a shadowed look, but none the less it was impressive as it loomed over the lake they floated across. It was absolutely fantastic, and Alan couldn't wait to see it in the daylight.

"Welcome to our home for the next ten months," Harry remarked, looking at the castle with interest.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Charming."

"It's beautiful," Alan whispered, trying desperately to blink back tears.

Blaise was giving him an odd look now, and he coughed uncomfortably. "It's just ... the Ministry doesn't have any say at Hogwarts," he mumbled, feeling stupid.

Harry squeezed his arm reassuringly. "It's okay, Alan," he said softly. "We understand."

Draco humphed. "Either way, there's sure to be a lot of things we'll have to watch out for," he said irritably, eyeing the other boats. "It may not be the Ministry, but that doesn't mean it's completely free of the usual idiots."

"And Alan has a rather frequent propensity to be surrounded by imbiciles," Blaise agreed with a very small, wry smile.

Alan made a face at them, but he had to admit he did feel better knowing that his friends would look out for him.

Friends. He really did have them. It was an alarming thought, but it filled him with warmth at the idea.

"Why are we taking the long way around, anyway?" Harry asked suddenly, glancing around again. "Everyone else took the carriages straight through the gate."

"Because this way we're introduced to the wards," Alan answered absently, bending down carefully to touch the water of the lake. "From now on, Hogwarts will recognize us as official students until we graduate. If we'd gone in the other way, we'd be considered guests, and we wouldn't be able to do everything we need to. Now we'll be protected by the school." He paused thoughtfully. "And it looks more impressive this way."

He looked up to find the other boys were staring at him. He blinked once, and frowned. "What?"

"It's scary sometimes just how much you know," Draco muttered. "And I thought **Blaise** read too much."

"Heads down!" the large man who'd gathered them all shouted as the first boats reached the cliff Hogwarts stood on. The all bent their heads obediently, and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles, Draco grousing about the lack of a proper dock as he nearly fell. Vincent, Greg, and Pansy immediately joined them again, forming another barrier around Alan, who was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic.

"Oy, you there!" the man called, lifting something out of the boats. "Is this yer toad?"

"Trevor!" the round-faced boy from the station cried blissfully, reaching for it with both hands.

Pansy sniffed. "A toad? How dated."

"Don't be mean, Pansy," Alan said softly. "It obviously means a lot to him. Not everyone has as much money as your family."

She humphed, but he noticed she didn't say anything about the boy or his toad after that.

They scrambled up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid, following the light of the lamp he carried. At last they came out on smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. Hurrying up the last flight of stone steps, they crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone 'ere?" the man called. "You there. Still got yer toad?" Then he raised his gigantic fist and knocked three times on the door.

It swung open immediately to reveal a tall, black-haired witch in emerald green robes with a stern face.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry murmured to Alan and Draco. "Dad and Uncle Sirius said to watch out for her. She's a real tough lady."

"Is she one of the ones planning your detentions?" Alan couldn't help asking.

"Probably," Harry admitted with a rueful grin as Draco chortled quietly.

They followed Professor McGonagall inside, marveling at the size of the entrance hall. Draco of course, sniffed and tried to pretend he'd seen better, but Alan could see him sneaking glances around out of the corners of his eyes. There was a low hum of hundreds of voices off to the right, where Alan assumed the rest of the school was already waiting, but Professor McGonagall brought them into a small, empty chamber off to one side of the main hall. They crowded in, pushing a little closer together than they might have otherwise, and Alan's friends responded to the sudden closeness by moving even closer to him. He had to fight to hold in a sigh.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall greeted formally, and Alan thought he rather liked Harry's welcome a bit better. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the great hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

Alan tuned her out at this point, because he'd already read all about the four houses in _Hogwarts, A History_. He frowned a little, because to be honest, he'd never really liked the idea. He could see why it would be practical - they had to sort out timetables and places to sleep somehow - but deliberately separating out the houses seemed to be asking for trouble. He'd heard all about the old house rivalries, because Draco couldn't seem to talk about anything else the last time he'd seen him, already eager to get to school. But once again, the idea was lost on him. Didn't they want the students to get along? Why would they go to such trouble to categorize them differently?

He blinked when he realized Professor McGonagall was leaving, and no one was following her. "Where's she going?" he asked quietly.

Harry gave him an odd look, then grinned. "She'll be back for us when they're ready. Didn't you listen to her at all?"

He shrugged a little. "I already know about the houses. It seems like a silly idea, anyway."

They all blinked at him. "I would have thought you'd be the first to be on board with the idea, Alan," Harry confessed, looking surprised. "I mean, according to my dad, it really is like your family while you're here. You spend most of your time with your housemates."

"But that's my point," Alan argued, frowning. "I want to spent my time with all of you. What if we're all split up? We'll hardly have any time together. And when we do, everyone will be expecting us to fight over whose house is best."

There was a moment of silence as they all considered this.

"I hadn't thought of that," Draco muttered, frowning.

"So ... what if we don't?" Harry offered tentatively. He shrugged as the rest of the group looked at him. "I mean, it's one thing that we're separated. But it doesn't mean we have to avoid each other, does it? I mean, we've all known each other for years. Why should we ignore each other for people we've just met? She didn't say we **had** to spend our free time with the rest of our house. Maybe we won't have as much time together as we'd like, but we'll manage somehow."

"And we could ignore the house rivalries," Draco admitted reluctantly, looking rather like he'd swallowed a lemon. "I mean, I know which house I'll be in, and no offense Harry, but you won't be. Maybe Alan, either. But that doesn't mean we have to fight about it."

Alan looked at him skeptically. "Are you actually promising not to fight with Harry?"

Draco snorted. "Of course not. But we don't have to fight about whose house is the best. We can just ... ignore that part, I suppose."

"All the houses are supposed to be different, right?" Harry added, grinning as he caught on. "That doesn't mean we're better than anyone else. And we can cheer on house teams without being mean to our friends."  
"Or ... " Blaise suggested slowly. "We could offer encouragement to our comrades regardless of what house they affiliate."

There was a long silence.

At last Draco closed his eyes and let out a great, heaving, put-upon sigh. "All right," he grumbled, raising a hand. "I hereby solemnly swear that no matter where I or my friends are placed, it will not ever affect our friendship."

It was perhaps the most selfless thing any of them had ever heard him say.

"I hereby solemnly swear that no matter where I or my friends are placed, it will not ever affect our friendship," Harry agreed, grinning wildly at Draco.

Blaise, Pansy, Vincent, and Greg each followed suit. Blaise had one of his faint, almost-smiles, while Pansy looked strangely smug. Greg seemed hesitant for the briefest of moments, but he swore along with the rest of them as Vincent gave him a subtly reassuringly look and a nudge.

Beaming at them all, Alan finally raised his own hand. "I hereby solemnly swear that no matter where I or my friends are placed, it will not ever affect our friendship," he declared.

"I say," said a soft voice behind them all. "You're a rather odd lot, aren't you? Not like the usual students we get in here."

They all turned to see who had spoken, and several other first years let out startled shrieks. About twenty ghosts, pearly-white and semi-transparent, hovered in the air behind them. Several of them seemed to be watching Alan and his friends with solemn expressions. At the front was a man in ruffles, who appeared to be the one who had spoken.

Alan stepped forward without stopping to think about it, giving one of his practiced smiles. "I suppose we're not," he agreed politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Alan Sheppard. And you are?"

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service," the ghost in ruffles returned, giving a bow. "Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower. Not that that will matter to any of you, I see." But he smiled as he said it.

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned.


	8. The Sorting

I think the most fun part of writing this chapter was Ron's reaction to dentists.

But Gordon and Virgil finally make their first appearance! My poor boys. -Pats them sympathetically-

Chapter 7: The Sorting

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall informed the first years with a stern frown, "And follow me."

They quickly shuffled themselves into an awkward line, each still standing a bit close to the person in front of them. Alan found himself sandwiched between Harry and Draco, frowning at the back of Harry's head. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair above four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. The tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone in misty silver. Alan looked up, marveling at the velvety black ceiling dotted with stars - mainly to avoid all the staring eyes that seemed to have zeroed in on his forehead. Somewhere behind him, he could hear a girl whispering "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

He glanced down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she placed an old-fashioned pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty, much like Alan's own robes. Everyone started at it in expectant silence for several minutes. Then the hat twitched, opened up a rip near the brim wide like a mouth, and began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart.

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a steady mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a thinking cap!"

The whole hall bust into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. The first years were left staring at it, befuddled.

"So you've just got to try on the hat?" Alan heard another boy muttering behind him. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Alan grinned very, very slightly. Now that certainly would have been a sight to see.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long sheet of parchment. "When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted," she announced. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. There was a moment's pause.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at their table.

"Bones, Susan!"

As McGonagall worked her way down the list, Alan was suddenly aware of eyes on him. While people had been staring at him before, most of them had finally turned their attention to the Sorting. But he could still feel someone staring, and found himself glancing around discreetly to see who it was.

As it turned out, it was a pair of boys sitting at the Gryffindor table. To his surprise, he recognized them as the pair he'd seen hugging the young blond man at the train station. Even more shocking, was that he realized he'd seen the red-head before: when Harry had been disguised as Scott Tracy's younger brother.

_So that's Gordon_, he mused to himself, meeting their stares pointedly. _Well, Harry did say they might be related to me, too. Maybe that's why they're staring. Still, it's rude._

He was further surprised when Gordon met his return stare with a grin. The red-head leaned in to whisper something to the other teen, earning a reproachful look.

The name "Goyle, Greggory!" startled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to cheer with the rest as Greg was sent off to the Slytherin table.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

Alan started slightly as he recognized the name, and was even more surprised to see the round-faced boy with the toad that he'd thought was familiar. He remembered Neville: it had been years ago, but they'd met at a few Ministry functions when Alan was six, until Neville had suddenly stopped coming. Alan had been greatly disappointed; Neville was shy, but kind, and too eager for a friend to care for who Alan was.

He was somewhat disappointed to see that Vincent had already been sorted to Slytherin. Draco soon joined them with a confident smirk, thumbing his nose at Harry, who crossed his eyes in return as Alan snickered. Pansy followed them, and then it was Harry's turn. But Harry, to Alan's dismay, was sent to Gryffindor with Neville.

It didn't matter where he was sorted now, he realized glumly. He would still have to fight for time to see the rest of his friends.

And then at last, "Sheppard, Alan!" rang out.

Whispers broke out as he stepped forward, everyone craning their necks to get a look at him now that he'd been separated from the crowd. Alan grit his teeth and pretended he couldn't hear them, taking the hat and sitting on the stool. The black inside of the hat dropped over his face, and he waited.

"Hmm," mused a small voice in his ear. "Another difficult one, I see. Plenty of courage. Good mind, a thirst for knowledge. Hard worker, definitely. And quite cunning, aren't you? You'd do well in Slytherin, that's for sure. But no ... that's not where you truly shine. For you ... hmm. I think ... it had better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Blinking rapidly, Alan stood up and removed the hat, setting it gently back down on the stool. His ears seemed to be ringing. Then he realized it wasn't his ears; the cheer he received was practically a dull roar. A red-headed boy - who was not Scott Tracy's brother - stood up to shake his hand before he could refuse it, while a pair of red-headed twins were shouting "We got Sheppard! We got Sheppard!" as loud as they could.

Forcing one of his polite smiles, Alan finally managed to pry himself free from the hand-shaking boy, dodged the twins, and slid into a seat beside Harry, ducking his head low. "I hate people," he muttered darkly, just loud enough for Harry to hear him.

Harry snickered quietly. "No, you don't. You only hate them when they treat you like an object," he reminded him. "Now pay attention, or we'll miss the rest of the Sorting."

Alan looked up with an obedient sigh, clapping along with the rest as "Thomas, Dean" joined the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa" was sent along to Ravenclaw, and the Weasley he'd seen earlier, whose name turned out to be Ron, came to the Gryffindor table, where he was promptly greeted by the hand-shaking boy. Blaise, to Alan's dismay, was sent off to the rest of the Slytherins.

"Don't look so down, Alan," Harry murmured, nudging him slightly. "We'll still see them. And you've got me with you, at least. I would have hated being the only one here."

Alan managed a slight smile at him.

Albus Dumbledore, who Alan recognized from several books he'd read, had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more to see them there. "Welcome," he called. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everyone cheered and clapped. Alan frowned, giving Harry an odd look.

"He's a bit mad," Harry explained. "Mum claims Dad and my uncles did it to him, but I don't know about that."

"And he's the headmaster?" Alan asked incredulously.

Harry shrugged. "Well he's still brilliant. One of the most powerful wizards in the world, really. And he's only a bit mad."

There was a laugh from across them, and Alan looked up to see the red-head who'd been staring at him earlier. "That's one way to describe Dumbledore, Harry," he chuckled.

Alan studied him carefully. "You must be Gordon Tracy," he offered politely. "I'm Alan Sheppard."

"Well of course I know who you are," Gordon retorted with a grin. Like Scott, his accent was American. "It's impossible not to." He yelped as the brown-haired boy next to him elbowed him.

"Don't be rude, Gordy," he murmured, offering Alan a smile. "I'm Virgil, one of Gordon's older brothers."

"Pleased to meet you," Alan returned with a nod.

"Virge, are you guys related to Alan?" Harry broke in curiously as he reached for the potatoes. "Dad said that he's my cousin, and you're my cousins, but no one ever said if you were his. We've been wondering."

There was an odd pause as Gordon's smile seemed to slip a little, and Virgil had a strange look on his face. It was a lot like the one Scott had whenever Alan called him Mr. Tracy. "Yes," Virgil said finally, his voice quiet. "We're related to Alan, too."

Alan frowned slightly. "Why hasn't anyone ever told me I had relatives?" he asked warily. "It's not as if I just popped up out of nowhere."

Virgil and Gordon exchanged glances. "That's a conversation better left for somewhere more private," Virgil said slowly. "You don't want the whole school knowing about your personal life, after all."

Alan snorted, taking the plate of roast beef from Harry. "It's a little late for that," he said dryly. "The whole wizarding world knows my personal life."

"And you're not bitter about it at all, are you?" Harry teased, grinning at him.

Alan retaliated by flinging a french fry at him.

"Hey, now. No food fights," Virgil warned them. "You don't want to be getting in trouble on your first day."

"What he means is, he doesn't want to assign detention on his first day," Gordon piped up, smirking at his brother. "He was horrified when he got his Head Boy Badge this summer."

"Why would you be horrified?" Alan asked, frowning. "Isn't it an honor?"

Gordon gave him a pitying look. "You poor, brainwashed child. We'll have to fix that right away."

"Virgil doesn't like being in charge," Harry explained to Alan. "He really hates having to give punishments. Especially because most of them are Gordon's."

"And yours now, right?" Alan pointed out with a slight smile.

"That's my Harry!" Gordon crowed, reaching across the table to give him a high-five.

"Don't encourage him," Virgil groaned. It was hard to say which one of them he was talking to.

They spent most of dinner getting to know their newest housemates, and eventually talk turned to their families around the same time dessert appeared. Seamus Finnegan shared the tale of how his mother had broken the news to his Muggle father that she was a witch that made everyone laugh. Neville told them a rather frightening story about his Pureblood family, and their obsession with surprising the magic out of him that left several Muggle-borns looking horrified and some of the older students rather disturbed. Ron Weasley pointed out his older brothers Percy and the twins, Fred and George, who they were warned were the Terrible Two of Hogwarts (a title Gordon loudly protested against, for some reason), and talked a bit about his oldest brothers Bill and Charlie, one who worked as a curse breaker for Gringott's Bank and the other studying dragons on the reserve in Romania. Harry gave them all some laughs talking about his father and uncles and some of the things they'd done taking care of him and his siblings while growing up, and what his mother had done to them in retaliation. Hermione Granger was happy to inform them about her Muggle parents, who happened to be dentists, and frightened several of the Pureblood students with an explanation of just what that was. ("They poke around in other people's **mouths**?" Ron had demanded, horrified. "On **purpose**?")

Alan worked quietly on some chocolate ice cream, feeling rather alone.

He looked over the teachers' table, his eyes wandering across the large man who'd brought them across the lake. Professor McGonagall was talking to the headmaster, every once in awhile shooting warning glances at somewhat plump, balding man on her opposite side, who was doing his best to pretend he hadn't noticed. Beside him was a rather twitchy-looking teacher in a strange purple turban, speaking quietly with an older witch who seemed quite tired.

His gaze was so unfocused as he tried to tune out Dean Thomas' story about his Muggle father that he couldn't be sure exactly who he was looking at when it happened. All he was aware of was that as his eyes moved across the teacher's table, there was a sudden sharp spike of pain in the center of his forehead. Right where his scar was.

Wincing, he dropped his gaze, trying to rub discreetly at his head. But the pain had already gone as quickly as it had come, leaving Alan a bit tired and frustrated.

A hand lightly touched his arm. "Alan, are you all right?"

He spun instinctively, reaching for his wand. His eyes met Virgil's, the older boy looking startled at his reaction. "Sorry," he mumbled stiffly, slipping his wand back into his pocket. "You shouldn't surprise me like that."

"Sorry," Virgil said softly. "Are you okay? You were holding your forehead."

"Just a bit of a headache," he murmured, feeling embarrassed. _So much for being just like any other student. Bloody instincts._

"Dumbledore should be doing his announcements any minute, and then we'll be going to bed. Think you can wait that long?" Virgil asked, looking concerned.

He forced a smile. "I'll be fine. It's just a a small one. Nothing to worry about."

"If you're sure." Virgil didn't exactly look convinced.

They moved to sit down again as Dumbledore stood up, and Alan spared a thought to wonder just how Virgil had managed to get across the table so fast.


	9. A Burning Hatred

I took the comments about how the class schedule works from the book and ran with it. It gave me a headache and doesn't exactly make sense in comparison to a normal school system, but this is about as well as I could see it feasibly working. Also, I gave the Gryffindors and Slytherins an extra class together, because it seemed to work better that way. Feel free to critique or steal for personal use. The idea of when Astronomy class takes place is somewhat stolen from Capricious Purple Clarity and her wonderful Harry Potter/Gundam Wing crossover, Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs. My version of Professor Sinistra is different though, the explanation for which will eventually be revealed.

For reasoning about Potions, see the end of this chapter. I don't want to give it away.

Chapter 8: A Burning Hatred

Hogwarts, Alan decided at the end of his first week, was secretly the pit of hell.

Students would stop to stare at him when he passed, some even lining the halls to get a look at him. They would point him out to each other and whisper about him as though he wouldn't notice. Even the first years would sometimes watch in amazement - in class, no less - before they remembered themselves. (Ron Weasley was particularly bad about this, and the tips of his ears always turned pink when he was caught. This instantly made Draco dislike him for several reasons.)

The first years soon learned that simply navigating through the school was an absolute nightmare. Between trick staircases, **moving** staircases, doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, doors that had to be tickled in the right place, solid walls pretending to be doors, and ghosts that were either helpful or liked to get you lost, getting to class on time was nearly impossible. Dean Thomas had actually asked his father to owl him something called a compass, which he used to figure out where he was going. As result, he often had a crowd following him between classes - Alan and Harry included.

And then once you managed to find your classes, there was the actual class itself. The schedules they kept were more than slightly daunting as they all struggled to adapt.

Mondays Alan and Harry had Herbology, Charms, and Transfiguration. Tuesdays was Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Wednesdays were tricky, going from Herbology, Transfiguration, and Charms into Astronomy, which technically ran into Thursday. The rest of their Thursdays was dedicated to History of Magic, and another round of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Fridays were even lighter, with only Herbology and double Potions, which meant the second half of the class was held after lunch.

Each class lasted for two hours, with two being held before lunch, and one after. Homework was often frustrating, just for the sake of keeping track of what was due when. And Alan was quickly learning that there was a lot more to actually performing magic than just knowing the theories behind it.

Charms, for instance, was mildly interesting, if only for the fact that Professor Flitwick was so cheerful. His enthusiasm was boundless, and he was always giving encouragement to anyone who seemed to be struggling. But the actual practice of Charms was one Alan found to be incredibly frustrating, because while he knew **how** to do things, actually doing them seemed to be a lot harder than knowing the necessary details of how it was supposed to be done.

Transfiguration was one of Harry's favorite subjects, despite the fact that he wasn't so good at it. He had confided in Alan that his problem was really because he was too excited to see the end result to focus on the actual process. Alan sympathized. Professor McGonagall did not.

Herbology was fascinating to Alan simply for the fact that he was allowed to actually touch things. Professor Sprout was a very hands-on teacher, as they all quickly learned. By the end of every class they were all filthy and in great need of a bath, and Alan absolutely loved it.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, the class everyone had been looking forward to, turned out to be a great disappointment. Professor Quirrell was shaky and twitchy, and often stuttered through his lectures. It had been said that he'd been a scholar who made the mistake of trying to get some real-world experience the previous year which had ended badly. The end result was that the entire classroom smelled like garlic, as did Quirrell himself. Many stories had been shared as to why that was, but no one was quite sure what was true. Harry had bluntly informed Alan he'd rather learn from him, and would get a better education in the process. Flustered, Alan had punched him in the arm and changed the subject.

Astronomy had them studying the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learning the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. This was swiftly becoming Alan's favorite class, both because they were allowed to stay up late, and because he actually found the night sky quite fascinating. His friends all proclaimed him to be nutters.

Professor Sinistra, an older, tired-looking witch who was said to be nearing retirement, thought it was sweet for some reason, which earned her strange looks from the class.

Potions was another favorite of Alan's. The teacher was Professor Pettigrew, who Harry had whispered was actually his Uncle Peter. Professor Pettigrew was known to giggle his way through some lectures and make odd comments for reasons he wouldn't explain, and was always especially kind to anyone who struggled. Alan was actually quite good at making potions, as he'd been making simpler ones for years. More than once Professor Pettigrew had displayed Alan's finished product to the class, and took the time to explain why it had come out the way it had.

There were only three classes he and Harry shared with the rest of their friends: Astronomy, which all the houses shared, History of Magic, and Potions. History of Magic was taught by a ghost named Professor Binns, an old teacher who had been said to have fallen asleep in front of the fire one night and got up the next morning to teach - leaving his body behind. He spent the entire time lecturing while most of the class struggled to stay conscious. Alan chose to read his history book, finding it far less dry.

As for Potions, Harry and Draco kept arguing over which one of them should be Alan's partner for the day, because Harry was terrible at making potions (the exact measurements of how things had to be done always frustrated him), while Draco didn't struggle, but didn't get to spend as much time with Alan otherwise. Harry retorted that he should try staying awake in History of Magic sometime, and then they wouldn't have this problem. At that point, Alan had stepped in and threatened to partner with Blaise instead. Eventually they agreed to trade off.

The big surprise came the morning of the second Friday since they'd arrived at school. It was less of a surprise in the way that it had been expected, but rather in the fact that there hadn't been any warning before hand.

Alan and Harry were chatting over breakfast, turned sideways on their benches so they could talk to Draco and Blaise, when the owls came in to deliver the morning's mail. They were all pleased to see Midas, Draco's Eagle Owl, come sweeping in with his usual supply of treats from home. Draco was usually bribed to share if one knew how to ask.

Hedwig landed on Harry's shoulder, nibbling at his ear. There was a letter tied to her foot, and judging by the careful scrawl, it was from Everett. Harry tore into it eagerly.

To Alan's surprise, Lucy dropped down in front of him, bearing a letter and a copy of the Daily Prophet. She hooted happily as he offered her a bit of toast, and unfolded his paper.

POTTER FAMILY LAYS CLAIM TO THE BOY-WHO-LIVED the headline proclaimed. Directly below it was a picture of a very young Alan shaking hands politely with James Potter at some Ministry function. It must have been years earlier; Alan couldn't remember it.

_A recent blood ritual has proven that the Potter family is directly related to none other than our own Boy-Who-Lived, Alan Sheppard. The ritual was performed in secret, and has only recently been brought to light. _

_"Alan is family," James Potter was quoted as saying. "We're just glad we can finally bring him home. He deserves the chance to be treated like a normal kid."_

_This of course has brought several questions as well. Many want to know why the Potters have only just stepped forward to claim this relation, while others have questioned if the Ministry of Magic, who until now was charged with the care of Mr. Sheppard, had previously done enough to find Mr. Sheppard's relations._

_"The Ministry has always done its best by Alan," Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge insists. "We would have of course returned Alan to his family the moment we became aware of them. Now that they have been found, we can only share in his happiness - "_

Alan calmly refolded the paper, set it on the center of his plate, and lifted his wand. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts and picture the exact spell he wanted, he leveled it at the paper. "_Incindio_."

Everyone around him stared as the paper went up in flames. Lucy scuttled away from it with an agitated hoot, and Alan transferred her to his shoulder, stroking her feathers gently as he watched the paper burn.

"Bad news, then?" Gordon Tracy asked with a grin as he sat down across from Alan and Harry.

Alan shrugged a shoulder, opening the letter Lucy had brought as well. He scanned it for several moments, skimming through James Potter's apologies for not giving him any warning before the Daily Prophet had gotten a hold of the story and Aunt Lily's requests for more letters, then wordlessly tossed it on top of the burning newspaper.

"Ministry?" Harry asked quietly, looking sympathetic.

Alan stayed silent, continuing to pet Lucy as he watched the paper continue to disintegrate.

"Oh, is that what we're burning? Let me help," Gordon said brightly. He dug in his pocket for a moment, pulled something out, and tossed it into the dwindling flames. There was a moment of nothing, then a pop, a shriek, and a burst of red and gold fireworks as the flames burned even higher than before. Lucy flew off with angry screech.

"Problems with the Ministry, then?" Draco asked dryly.

Gordon blinked at him innocently. "Is it that obvious?"

Blaise snorted. "Only just."

"Gordon, what has Scott said about lighting things on fire in public areas?"

"Always have a water spell handy," Gordon returned, smiling up at his older brother as Virgil joined them. "And I didn't light anything on fire - Alan did. I just added the firecrackers. We're pretending it's the Ministry of Magic."

A shadowed expression came over Virgil's face. "Got anymore firecrackers?" he asked after a moment.

Gordon searched his pockets for a moment, brightened, and offered something to him. Virgil tossed it onto the smoldering plate without hesitation, watching with a darkly pleased look in his eyes as the fire flared back up again. Gordon looked positively gleeful.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "I assume this issue with the Ministry is a family thing."

Virgil was silent for a moment, his eyes still on the flames as Gordon searched his pockets for more firecrackers. "There's a reason our family lives on a private island in the middle of nowhere," Virgil said finally, his voice soft.

"What did they do to you?" Alan asked quietly, glancing up from the plate at last.

There was a pause, and the grief in Virgil's eyes was visible. "They took something from us." He swallowed, and for a moment, tears actually shone in his eyes. "They stole the most precious possession our family had, and we never got it back."

Harry looked visibly disturbed. "Isn't there anything - "

"Even if we did get it back now," Gordon cut him off, looking grim, "It would never be the same. It can't be."

The bell chimed then, and Virgil glanced at them all. "You should get going," he murmured, reaching up to squeeze his brother's shoulder gently. "You don't want to be late to classes."

Harry nodded reluctantly, exchanging looks with Draco and Blaise as they all gathered their things.

Alan paused at the door, glancing back at Virgil and Gordon. Gordon had gotten to his feet and was now hugging his older brother, gripping so fiercely there were wrinkles in Virgil's robes. Virgil hugged back just as tight, one hand stroking Gordon's hair as he rested his chin on the other boy's shoulder.

Alan swallowed hard, feeling uncomfortable and upset for reasons he couldn't put into words. Then Harry was calling his name, and he hitched his bag onto his shoulder. Sparing one last glance for the two grieving brothers, he hurried after his friends.

_

* * *

_

Okay, reasonings for why Peter Pettigrew is the Potions teacher in this story:

First of all, Snape became a spy for Dumbledore after Lily died - that was what sent him running from the Deatheaters in the first place. Because he hadn't wanted her dead. But here, she **didn't** die, which stands to reason that he has no reason to regret being a Deatheater. Therefore he isn't a spy or a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and he's not a teacher at Hogwarts because Dumbledore didn't need him under close watch.

For the record, I'm doing this on logic, not because I hate Snape. I don't exactly **like** him, but I do respect him for what he was doing. In the end, he really was a braver man than anyone ever knew.

As to why Peter? Well, first of all, I needed a new Potions teacher and I wasn't keen on the idea of using another OC if I could avoid it. I debated using Lily actually, since Slughorn said she was good at Potions, but Charms was supposed to be her favorite subject, so I decided not to. Slughorn was another option, but since he's supposed to be retired and I didn't feel like forcing Alan to endure the Slug Club in his first year, I gave up on him, too.

Peter on the other hand, was chosen for several reasons. First of all, I honestly believe that Peter did not give the Potters to Voldemort on purpose. Based on some of the things he says in the books, I don't think he was actually trying to betray them. Point of fact, he doesn't go to Voldemort until Sirius and Remus bust him. Yes, he wanted to be protected, but he also has nowhere else to go at that point: the Weasleys know who he is, Sirius, Remus, and Harry are all ready to kill him, and Dumbledore will turn him over to the Ministry to free Sirius, which means he'll most likely get the Dementor's Kiss. Voldemort was the only option he had left. Now in My Little Corner of the Fandom (TM), I chose to say that Peter was tortured into giving up the Potters. Depending on what story I'm working on at the time, I debate back and forth over whether he joined the Deatheaters himself (thinking he could protect his friends that way), or was simply captured by them. He **was** a Gryffindor, remember? He had to be brave at some point in his life, or he would never have been in that house.

As to why he's teaching Potions, first, I figure that each of the Marauders had some sort of specialty that made them so infamous as a group. We know James was good at Transfiguration, and Remus seems to be DADA - or at least dark creatures - and Charms. So I decided that Peter should get be good at potions, so he had some sort of input on what they were doing. And for why he became a teacher here, Voldemort never went after Harry in this universe. This means that Peter never betrayed the secret, the Potters are alive and managed to have two more kids, Sirius never went to Azkaban, and the Marauders are still together. Now that the war is 'over', Peter needed to do something with his life, and thus became a teacher. He **is** however, still a Marauder, which is why McGonagall's so suspicious of him. He may or may not play a more important role in this story, as I haven't really decided yet.


	10. Flying Lessons

Okay, I admit it. I love Neville. He's a sweetheart. And the poor boy needs more friends.

And as you can tell by the end of this chapter, no, I will not be putting any first years on the Quidditch team. I love Harry playing Quidditch and all, but that was seriously unfair. And while I love Alan, he's not Seeker material, either.

Chapter 9: Flying Lessons

The moment the notice appeared in the Gryffindor common room that the first years would beginning flying lessons on Thursday, Alan couldn't decide whether to be overjoyed or terrified.

He was pleased to see that they'd be learning with the Slytherins, but he and Harry seemed to be the only ones. Ron Weasley was particularly upset about this, and made several rude comments about what he expected the Slytherins would do that made Alan have to clench his fists to keep from hexing him. Ron wasn't the only person expressing anti-Slytherin sentiments, either: Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil seemed to have somehow gotten into some sort of argument with Pansy, which was unhealthy for anyone who happened to be standing near any of them. Seamus Finnigan had jumped onboard with Ron's dislike of Draco for reasons unknown; Ron at least had the excuse of the Malfoy/Weasley family feud to fall back on. Even Hermione Granger, who was usually very quiet unless offering up an answer in class, had a grudge against Blaise - something to do with library books, which no one had asked for further details about. The only ones who seemed to be staying out of it were Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom.

Neville was more frightened of the idea of actually getting on a broom than the idea of who would be watching him do it. As it turned out, he'd never been on a broomstick in his life because his grandmother wouldn't let him near one. This had earned him several looks of somewhat-faked sympathy, because it was a well-known fact that Neville was terribly clumsy.

Alan could honestly sympathize with Neville. He'd never been allowed on a broom either, and he was worried that he'd make an idiot out of himself. He hadn't had much luck with methods of travel so far: floo travel made him dizzy, and he'd thrown up after his first - and only, if he had anything to say about it - attempt at being Apparated. At the rate he was going, he was going to fall out of the sky and break his arm on his first attempt to get off the ground.

But at the same time, flying was something he'd always wanted to try. It was one of the luxuries he'd never been allowed. Fudge had always insisted he didn't want Alan to get hurt, but Alan knew the real reason was that he feared Alan would use the first broomride he got to run away.

To be honest, he probably would have.

It didn't help to hear all the boastful stories everyone was sharing for the next several days. According to Seamus Finnigan, he'd spent most of his childhood roaming the countryside on a broomstick. Ron Weasley would tell anyone he could get to listen about the time he'd almost hit something called a 'hang glider' on his older brother's broom. And of course there was Draco, who never missed a chance to talk about himself. He told several long stories about his flying adventures that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters.

He also complained loudly about first years not being allowed their own brooms, but as he wasn't the only one, Alan was willing to let that slide.

Harry on the other hand, when asked if he'd ever ridden a broom, only grinned wryly. "That's putting it mildly," was all he would say. Professor Pettigrew, who happened to be passing by the Gryffindor table as he was asked, abruptly burst into giggles and patted Harry on the head with a quiet murmur of "Try not to break anything this time, kiddo," that everyone had to strain to hear.

When Thursday morning finally dawned, Alan lay in bed quietly for at least an hour after he'd awoken, unwilling to move. Harry prodded at him at one point, but he only rolled over and pretended to still be asleep until he was left alone. By the time he finally dragged himself up and into the bathroom to dress, the rest of the dorm was empty.

Which is why he was so surprised to see Neville sitting on his bed looking glum when he finally came back out.

"Neville?" Alan asked quietly. "Are you all right?"

Neville startled, looking up at him. "Oh. Um ... Just trying to remember what it was I've forgotten." He offered up the scarlet Remembrall in his hand with a sad smile. "My gran sent it to me this morning."

Alan moved to sit beside him, looking at the other boy for a moment. "Nervous?" he asked finally.

Neville flinched slightly. "N-nervous?" he stammered. "Why would I be - "

"Me, too," Alan interrupted quietly.

Neville stared at him. "**You're** nervous? But - but - why? I mean, you never have a hard time with **anything**!"

Alan smiled slightly. "Charms," he corrected. "And History. Transfiguration too, actually."

Neville frowned. "You don't seem to struggle." He looked glum again. "Not like I do."

"But I do," Alan insisted. "I've spent so much time knowing what I'm supposed to be doing, I expect it to happen right away. But it doesn't. And History - well, we all struggle with that."

The corner of Neville's mouth twitched a little.

"And I've never been on a broom before, either," he added reluctantly. "I'll probably make a fool out of myself before you do."

"But I'm a clutz," Neville reminded him gloomily.

"So? Everything I know comes from what I've read. And I only read a lot to keep from getting bored. Books aren't going to teach me how to fly no matter what Granger thinks."

This time Neville did smile. After a moment, he studied Alan with a puzzled look on his face. "Why are you trying so hard to cheer me up? You don't have to."

Alan shrugged uncomfortably. "Because I'd like it if someone would have done the same for me. And I know what it's like to struggle at things." He hesitated. "Besides. You were ... you spent time with me when no one else would."

Neville looked startled. "You remember that?"

He sighed. "Contrary to popular belief, I really don't have many friends," he muttered, looking at the floor. "You were nice to me and didn't treat me like I was different. And when you stopped coming ... " He shrugged a little.

"Gran hated Fudge," Neville said after a pause, his voice quiet. "We stopped going because she thought he was an idiot and didn't want to waste her time with him. I ... I never thought you would miss someone like me."

"You were the first person to talk to me like I was just another kid," Alan told him softly. "Even Draco and Harry were too shy at first until after you did. But you just ... talked to me. I never forgot that."

They looked at one another in silence for several minutes. At last Neville offered a hand with a tentative smile. "Maybe we could try to be friends again?"

Alan smiled back, shaking his hand firmly. "I'd like that."

Then he sighed, looking out the window, and moved to stand. He stretched out his back, then offered Neville a hand up. "Well? Shall we go make fools out of ourselves together?"

Neville giggled softly. "As long as I'm not the only one," he said with a ruefully grin.

Alan threw an arm around his shoulders as they walked toward the door together. "I highly doubt you will be," he promised.

* * *

Alan surveyed the line of brooms, ten on each side, warily. To his right, Neville was biting his lip anxiously and trying not to look as terrified as he was. To his left, Harry was making a face.

"What?" Alan asked warily, eying him.

Harry hesitated. "Nothing."

Alan frowned at him.

Across from them, Draco snorted. "He's looking at the sorry state of these awful brooms. Harry doesn't have much, but he does have some taste," he said with a sniff, frowning down at the broom at his feet.

Harry checked to make sure Madam Hooch wasn't looking, then made a one-handed gesture that only a few people seemed to recognize. The ones that did snickered audibly, and Draco gave him a suspicious look.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "And say 'Up!'"

"Up!" they all shouted.

Harry and Draco's brooms were instantly in their hands. Alan's jumped slightly, quivered, and fell back down. Neville's merely rolled over.

Alan scowled down at his broom. "Up!" he snapped in frustration.

This time, it leapt obediently into his grip.

Neville glared at him.

Alan shrugged weakly. "Try glaring at it?" he offered.

Harry snorted. "Don't be afraid of it, Neville, that's your problem," he corrected. "If you're scared, it isn't going to listen."

Neville bit his lip again, frowned at his broom, and tried again. "Up!"

The broom trembled, rolled over, and at last slowly rose into his hand.

Neville beamed.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry burst out laughing when she told Draco he'd been doing it wrong for years. Alan managed to hold it in, but the look on Draco's face **was** priceless.

Draco looked up sharply, scowled, and gave Harry the same gesture Harry had done at him earlier.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Madam Hooch barked, spinning around to glare at him. "What was that?"

"Just scratching my nose, Professor," Draco said innocently, doing so. "I had an itch."

She looked at him warily for a moment before moving on. Draco promptly gave Harry an even darker look that promised retribution. Alan scooted a few inches toward Neville.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch instructed. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two - "

But Neville had already kicked off, whether on accident or on purpose, Alan couldn't be sure. Madam Hooch was shouting at him, but his broom continued to rise straight up - first ten feet, then twenty. As everyone watched in horror, Neville's broom abuptly rolled, sending him tumbling back down to the ground. He landed face-down in the grass and did not move.

Madam Hooch was already bending over him, her face as white as his. "Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come on, boy - it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms right where they are or you'll be cleaning the trophy room for a week. Come on, dear." And she hustled Neville away.

There was an awkward moment of silence. At last Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode began snickering. Theodore Nott sat astride his broom, looking smug.

Harry ignored them, moving to pick something up of the ground. "Did somebody lose a Remembrall?" he asked.

"It's Neville's," Alan informed him. "He got it from his gran this morning."

Harry nodded solemnly. Then without warning, he threw the Remembrall at Draco.

Draco started, but managed to snag it before it slipped past him. He raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Can't sit still for five minutes, can you?"

"If either of you break that, I'll break you," Alan said calmly.

Harry looked at him in surprise, but nodded again. "We'll be careful, Alan," he promised. He offered a guilty grin. "I'm not going to lose it, but I'm trying not to think about the fact that I'm sitting on a broom and I can't go flying."

Draco on the other hand, took one look at Alan's face and groaned audibly. "Fine. Fine," he snapped. "You and your bloody - whatever." And he threw the Remembrall back to Harry.

Pansy shot Alan an amused look, which he ignored. He knew perfectly well what they were thinking. In his own way, he had just laid claim to Neville as his friend - according to the 'rules' once explained to him by Draco himself. Being that they all knew how hard it was for him to even **make** friends, they would silently agree from now on that Neville was off-limits to any teasing or torment, despite however they felt about him personally. Being that Neville embodied most of the things Draco hated in people, particularly Purebloods - awkwardness, lack of self-confidence, no social or physical grace, and most importantly a tendency to look pathetic without intending to - this would be especially difficult for him.

Alan didn't care. Draco was his friend, and he would honor the unspoken rule if he wanted to stay that way. And for all his complaining about getting him in trouble, Draco really did value their friendship. While it wasn't as hard for him to make friends as it was for Alan, he was incredibly loyal to the ones he had.

And to be honest, Alan really did like Neville. And Alan didn't like many people.

He was startled out of his thoughts by something whipping by his ear, and heard Draco swear. Without stopping to think about it, he swiftly kicked off the ground, shot after the Remembrall, and snagged it before it could shatter against the building. Throwing it back to Draco harder than was strickly necessary, he glared. "I was serious about breaking it, Draco."

Then he realized everyone was staring at him.

Blinking, he looked down and started slightly as he realized he was hovering a good ten feet off the ground, on the opposite side of the field where he'd been standing. Had he just flown? Without realizing it?

He leaned forward almost instinctively, and shot back toward the rest of the class.

"Sheppard!" a voice bellowed.

He froze.

Madam Hooch stood at the edge of the field, looking absolutely livid. "Didn't I say not to move?! Detention!" she roared.

He groaned, turning to glare Draco and Harry. They both winced.


	11. Detention Frustrations

I made up a Quidditch team! Whee! And Alan and Gordon talk! Kinda. Sorta. Well, Gordon tries.

Chapter 10: Detention Frustrations

"Alan!" Gordon Tracy greeted cheerfully. "Imagine running into you in a place like this!"

Alan stared at him blankly. " ... Do you usually meet people in the trophy room?"

Gordon shrugged, grinning. "Only for detention. But that means I'm not the only one stuck in here. Filch always says no talking, but then he wanders off for so long he never notices if we do. And it's boring polishing by yourself."

"Isn't that the point?" Alan asked dryly as he pulled out the polishing rag he'd been given.

"Detentions are supposed to teach you a lesson. Which is exactly why you're not supposed to learn anything," Gordon informed him. He smiled as Alan gave him a weird look. "I'll start on the right, you take the left."

Alan nodded warily, moving to grab a trophy from the far left wall. Maybe if he zoned out long enough, time would go by faster. How many ways could he come up with to get Draco and Harry back for this in four hours?

"So what are you in for?" Gordon piped up suddenly.

Alan blinked out of his thoughts, shaking his head. "Um, my friends being idiots."

Gordon laughed. "Okay, what did they **tell** you you're in for?"

He sighed. "Disobeying a teacher. We weren't supposed to use the brooms while Madam Hooch was gone, and I did without meaning to."

"Why did you?"

"My friends were tossing around somebody's Remembrall, and one of them missed. I went after it and forgot I was still sitting on my broom."

"Did you catch it?"

He shot Gordon an odd look, but the teen was busy polishing his own trophy. "Yes, actually. Just before it hit the castle wall and broke."

"Nice job," Gordon said, sounding impressed.

He shrugged and went back to polishing. He really didn't see what the big deal was.

"So was it your first time on a broom?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah. I was never allowed one before."

Gordon whistled. "Very nice. You must be a natural."

"I guess."

"So what's your Quidditch Team?"

"The London Lions," he returned automatically.

There was several moments of silence, and at last he glanced up to see Gordon watching him with a considering expression. He frowned. "What?"

"So what team do you actually **like**?" Gordon asked with a wry smile.

Alan started. "I - "

Gordon's smile widened slightly. "I can tell it's not really the Lions, so who is it?"

He started to protest that it was, and stopped. Why was he even bothering? It didn't really matter anymore.

"No one," he admitted at last. "I don't usually get to watch Quidditch."

"Then why'd you say you like the Lions?" Gordon wanted to know, tilting his head curiously.

He shrugged. "It's what I was told to say. I support the Ministry, so obviously I support the London team where they work."

Gordon's eyes darkened. "Do they ever let you talk for yourself?"

"Honestly?" He hesitated, not sure why he was even answering. Was it because he didn't answer to them now? "No," he confessed quietly.

He went back to polishing trophies silently.

"So what's your favorite subject here?" Gordon asked after awhile.

Alan sighed, setting down his polishing rag and turning to face Gordon fully. "Why?" he asked tiredly. "Why do you keep asking me all this? What are you trying to find out?"

Gordon blinked at him. "Because I don't know you. And I want to," he returned, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Because we're related?" Alan asked with a scowl.

Gordon frowned. "Well, that too. I don't really know much about you, and I'd like to. So I'm making conversation. Is that so terrible?"

Alan folded his arms, eyes narrowing further. "Why?"

There was an odd look on Gordon's face. "Because I like you," he said finally. "Because I think you're an interesting kid, and that makes me want to know more about you. Satisfied?"

"What was that look for?" Alan asked warily.

"What look?"

"That ... You were looking at me weird. Virgil does it too, sometimes." Alan frowned again, remembering that he'd seen Scott do the same thing.

Gordon sighed. "It's because you remind me of my brother," he admitted. "And then other times, it's because of something you've said."

"Something I've said?"

He nodded. "It's just ... Sometimes you say things that sort of bring home how bad you've had it. Like not even knowing what your Quidditch team is because you've never gotten to choose. Or - " He hesitated. "Or the way you get suspicious about anyone showing interest in you."

Alan's eyes narrowed. "I learned a long time ago not to trust just anyone. And what did you mean about your brother?"

Gordon ran a hand over his hair, looking frustrated. "The way you stand sometimes. Or the look on your face. It just makes me think of him, that's all. Really."

"Hmm." Alan looked at him suspiciously for a moment. "We're alone now, you know."

Gordon gave him another funny look. "Yeah, I kinda noticed. What about it?"

He sighed irritably. "You said you'd explain why no one ever told me I had relatives in someplace more private."

"Actually, Virgil said that. I told you about him being Head Boy and called you a poor brainwashed child."

Alan's last thread of patience snapped.

"Are you bloody **trying** to make me angry?" he exploded.

"No!" Gordon paused. "Well, kinda. But it's for a good cause! You're too repressed. You need to let people know what you're really thinking about more often."

Alan glared at him, fists clenching. "All right, then," he hissed. "I think you're a scheming, nosy bastard who needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut and when to actually give a bloody straight answer, and right now, I'd really rather you just shut your bloody trap!"

He spun, snatched his rag up off the floor, and began polishing with a vengeance.

It wasn't until after Filch finally released them at almost midnight, arms aching, that Gordon caught Alan's arm as they headed back toward Gryffindor Tower. "Alan, wait."

Alan jerked his arm free, holding in a wince as his shoulder throbbed. "I already told you that I have nothing to say to you."

"Just hear me out, okay?" Gordon pleaded. "It's not that we don't want to tell you. It's just ... well, it's hard, okay? I mean, you ... you were just ... gone. For years. And there was nothing we could do. It wasn't because no one was looking. It was because we couldn't get near you. And even when Uncle James and Aunt Lily managed to get close, they couldn't just steal you away no matter how hard they tried. We've always **wanted** you Alan. We just ... we couldn't."

Alan stared at him for several minutes, wavering. On one hand, it was exactly what he'd always wanted to hear: that he was wanted. And Gordon's eyes seemed so sincere, his voice cracking as if he was on the brink of tears.

But on the other hand, it was exactly what he'd always wanted to hear. Which meant it was the last thing he wanted to be told by a boy he'd only just met, who really knew nothing about him. A boy that for all he knew, had every intention of capitalizing on his fame.

Just like everybody else.

"Are you finished?" he asked coolly.

Gordon sighed, shoulders sagging as his hand dropped from Alan's arm. "Yeah, I'm finished."

"Good. I'd like to get some sleep now." And he walked away, ignoring the eyes boring into his back. In his mind he was already plotting how to ask the Weasley twins if they had any suggestions for revenge, or more specifically, supplies he could borrow.

* * *

That night, he dreamed of a hand gently stroking his hair, and someone leaning down to whisper in his ear "_I love you, Al. Always. No matter what._"

When he awoke, he was alone.

But on the nightstand next to his bed, he found a small jar of cream and a bottle of something labeled 'Everlasting-Itching Powder'. An unsigned note on top read simply: _Great for sore muscles. And stupid friends._

He used both.


	12. Adventures at Midnight

I had so much fun writing this chapter, for so many reasons. I believe it's my favorite so far.

Chapter 11: Adventures at Midnight

It took nearly three weeks for Alan to finally forgive Draco and Harry. Draco tried to bribe him with sweets, while Harry pleaded and apologized left and right. By the end of the first week Alan **had** forgiven them, but he wasn't entirely ready to stop making them suffer for it yet. And Pansy agreed with him that they deserved everything they got.

But in the end, it was lucky that he forgave them when he did.

Alan and Harry were eating dinner in the usual fashion, turned enough to acknowledge Pansy and Blaise at the table beside them, when someone's voice broke through their conversation.

"Potter Family under Ministry investigation!" a voice announced loudly from further down the Slytherin table. "The family of James and Lily Potter, recently revealed to be related to our own Boy-Who-Lived Alan Sheppard, has been brought under close scrutiny by the Ministry of Magic.

"According to the statement given by Ministry spokeperson Gretta Henderson 'The Ministry wishes to ensure that the possible new home for Alan Sheppard is of the highest quality. We have only Alan's best interests at heart.' Isn't that sweet?" the voice cooed.

Alan looked up with an irritated sigh. Across from Pansy and Blaise, Montague, a third year Draco had warned him about, was smirking at him from over a copy of the Daily Prophet. Beside him, a sixth year named Marcus Flint and several other Slytherins were snickering.

"Ignore them," Pansy murmured. "They only want a rise out of you."

"Can't say I blame them," Montague went on. "Seeing how everyone knows the Potters are even worse than the Weasleys now. And why should the precious Boy-Who-Lived board with Blood Traitors?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Alan could see Harry's fists clenching.

"I'm surprised they've bothered, really," Flint put in with a sneer. "Sheppard's cost the Ministry enough money as it is, hasn't he? And all because his mummy and daddy went and left him an orphan."

Alan lurched to his feet, already reaching for his wand. He didn't care who was watching. He just wanted to wipe that bloody smirk off the smarmy bastard's face.

"Is there a problem here?"

Virgil Tracy's tone was positively glacial. He glanced between the Slytherin table and Alan, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Well?" he pressed.

"Of course not," Montague purred. "Just a friendly discussion about an article the Daily Prophet. Little Sheppard there seems upset for some reason. Can't imagine why."

Alan shifted his stance with a soft growl.

But Virgil's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing in warning. "As long as it's friendly," he said softly, a cold smile on his face. "I'd hate to have to get involved in anything ... unpleasant."

Flint twitched slightly, his return smile turning somewhat forced. "No need to dirty your pretty hands, Tracy," he promised.

"You think his hands are pretty?" Alan spoke up, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. "Why Flint, I never realized you fancied blokes."

Flint turned an odd shade of purple, and somewhere behind him Alan heard a choked sound.

"Dinner's nearly over," Virgil interrupted before anyone could say anything else. "You might want to finish eating while you can." He kept his eyes on Flint for a few moments before turning to raise his eyebrows pointedly at Alan.

Alan blinked at him innocently. "What?"

Virgil rolled his eyes, tussling his hair and gently pushing Alan down into a seat. "Eat your dinner before I give you detention."

"You can get detentions for not eating now?" Harry piped up, looking intruiged.

"Don't you start," Virgil warned him, the corner of his mouth twitching. He shook his head as he headed for the door.

"Still need big brother to protect you, Sheppard?" Flint hissed from across the table.

Something in Alan's chest clenched painfully at the words, and he turned to glare at Flint. "At least I don't admire his pretty hands," he shot back quietly, raising both hands and wiggling his fingers.

Flint's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be half as cocky if you didn't have Tracy to hide behind."

"I'll take you any time, anywhere," Alan returned cooly.

A slow smile spread across Flint's face. "Tonight, trophy room at midnight. Wands only."

Alan shrugged indifferently. "Fine. See you there." With that, he turned back to his dinner and returned to eating.

Flint, Montague, and the rest left barely five minutes later, and Alan finally gave into the eyes boring into his back. He looked up again with a sigh. "What?"

Pansy stared at him. Without warning, she stood up, snatched the large book Blaise had brought with him off the table, and bashed Alan over the head with it.

"**Ow**!"

"You ... you brainless toad!" she hissed. Throwing the book back at Blaise so hard he nearly dropped it, she stormed out of the great hall without another word, nose in the air.

The boys stared after her.

At last Alan turned to Harry. "Be my second?"

Harry blinked at him. "Of course."

For some reason, Blaise heaved a great sigh.

* * *

"It occurs to me," Harry murmured much later that night as he and Alan carefully snuck out of Gryffindor Tower, "That this is exactly the sort of thing that has the professors planning my detentions."

Alan glanced at him, raising his eyebrows. "Sneaking out at night, or getting into wizard duels?"

"Both, most likely," Harry sighed. "Dad's probably done this and more."

"So you think they assume you will?"

Harry gave him an exasperated look. "Do you know how many times I've been mixed up with my dad? Not just here, either. Even Uncle Sirius accidentally calls me James sometimes."

"But you're not as bad as he is," Alan argued. "He would have been doing this for fun. You're doing it as a favor to me."

"No, I'm doing it because that smarmy git insulted our family. If you hadn't accepted, I would have."

"And then I'd be your second, which means we'd be sneaking out tonight anyway."

" ... Point."

"Wait, do you hear that?"

They froze.

A soft snuffling sound came from just ahead of them. It seemed familiar somehow, and Alan frowned, glancing round quickly before raising his wand. "Lu - "

"Don't!" Harry hissed, grabbing his arm. "You'll light up the whole corridor!"

"Then how else am I suppose to - "

Harry made an exasperated noise, carefully shuffled forward, and poked his foot as close to the location of the noise as he dared. There was a muffled yelp, and they both paused.

"Neville?" Alan whispered, squinting into the darkness.

" ... Alan?"

"What are you doing out here?" Harry demanded.

"Thank goodness you found me!" Neville breathed, scrambling to his feet. He sounded quite relieved. "I've been out here for hours. I got lost on my way back from dinner, and now I can't remember the password to get back in to go to bed."

Alan winced. "It's pig snout. But I think the Fat Lady's gone visiting again." For a portrait that was supposed to be guarding their Tower, he'd noticed she was rather social.

Neville groaned quietly.

"Look, Neville - we've got to get going," Harry began quickly. "We've got somewhere to be, and we're running late. If you go back down the hall and wait we'll be back in just a - "

"Don't leave me here alone!" Neville pleaded, looking desperate. "The Bloody Baron's been by twice already! The last time he grabbed my ankle and said I was snoring too loud!"

"Shh!" Alan hissed. "All right, all right, you can come. But we have to be quick, and we can't get caught, all right?"

Neville nodded eagerly, and scurried along after them.

After several minutes of walking, he leaned forward to prod Alan gently in the back. "So ... where are we going?" he whispered.

Alan closed his eyes briefly, holding in a sigh. "I've got a wizard's duel tonight with Flint."

Neville actually froze for several moments before hurrying after them again. "Are you mad?" he hissed. "He's a Sixth year! He'll murder you before you can so much as swish and flick!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Alan muttered.

"Sorry. It's just - "

"Look, he insulted Alan's parents and my family, all right?" Harry cut in, sounding irritated.

Neville paused. "Oh." There was a quiet sigh. "I guess I can stand watch for Filch, then."

Harry glanced back at him, seeming surprised. "Er - thanks, Neville."

"Well, it's for family honor isn't it? You don't have a choice." Neville said practically. "The least I can do is help where I can."

Harry looked at him again. "I hate to admit it, but sometimes I forget you're a Pureblood," he admitted. "I keep expecting you to react like - oh, Granger for instance. She'd never understand."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I may only have my gran, but I'm still a Pureblood," Neville said very quietly, sounding deeply offended. "Just because I'm not a good wizard doesn't mean I don't know how to be one."

"I'm sorry," Harry returned genuinely. "I didn't mean it like that. I just - "

"Shh!" Alan hissed, stopping to listen. He glanced up and down the hall. "Anyone see any sign of Flint?"

There was a pause as Harry and Neville both looked around. "Sorry, Alan."

"No. Um, why?"

"Because I wouldn't put it past the smarmy bastard to hex me from behind a tapestry or something," he muttered, tightening his grip on his wand.

But Flint wasn't there yet. Not even Montague. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. The minutes crept by.

Alan was just staring at one of the trophies he distinctly remembered polishing only a few weeks ago, remembering Gordon's cheerful smile and endless questions, when Neville suddenly stiffened and gasped. "I hear something!"

Alan quickly raised his wand, ready for anything - except what they heard next.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

All three boys exchanged horrified glances. Without a word between them, they bolted out the nearest door and down the corridor. Neville stumbled; Alan seized him by the back of his robes and dragged him along. Dashing through doors left and right, dodging suits of armor and what was either a very large house-elf or a pair of snogging students, they finally emerged, panting and gasping, in what they vaguely recognized as the Charms corridor.

"Did ... we ... lose h-him?" Neville wheezed clutching his chest.

"That ... smarmy ... bastard," Harry rasped. "Bet he ... tipped Filch. Didn't ... even bother ... to show."

Glowering, Alan punched him hard in the shoulder. "You ... think?"

"Well, don't take it out ... on me!"

" ... Do you think it's safe to head back to the Tower?" Neville asked after several moments of Alan and Harry glaring at each other in silence, looking anxious. "I think I'd really like to go to bed now."

But of course, luck was never on Alan Sheppard's side.

They'd barely made it halfway down the hall when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out in front of them. They all jumped, Neville cowering behind Alan as he and Harry gripped their wands.

It was Peeves, the poltergeist. He blinked at them for several moments before a slow, delighted smile spread across his face. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties?" he cooed. "Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves," Alan said carefully, trying desperately to think of something to convince him. He glanced at Harry.

"Should tell Filch, I should," Peeves went on in a saintly voice, his eyes glittering wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

Harry was staring at Peeves rather intently. "Peeves, Professor Pettigrew told me he might be going to Hogsmeade next weekend. I can have him go to Zonko's for you," he suggested.

Peeves paused, looking wary. "Pretty Peter Pumpkin Eater?" he asked suspiciously. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Er. You ... I guess you'll just have to trust me," Harry faltered, wincing.

Peeve's eyes narrowed.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" he bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Swearing wildly, Alan snagged Neville's hand and tore off again, Harry following close behind.

"Bloody - **Peeves**!" Harry raged as they ran. "Oh, I'll have Uncle Peter get him something all right! But he won't - like it!"

There was a door at the end of the corridor. Alan reached for the knob, twisting, Neville stumbling along with him - and promptly smashed them both into it.

"Ow ... " Alan groaned, rubbing his nose.

Neville whimpered softly, stumbling back and clutching his head.

Harry just barely managed to skid to a stop. "What the bloody hell - "

"It's bloody locked," Alan snapped. "Give me a moment. _Alohomora!_"

The lock clicked and the door swung open obediently. They piled through it, throwing it shut behind them and quickly pressing their ears against the door. They waited, chests heaving, barely daring to breathe.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please'."

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.

"All right - please."

"NOTHING!" Peeves burst into hysterical laughter. "Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please!" And then they heard the sounds of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in a rage.

"Filch thinks the door is locked," Alan breathed in relief. "Perhaps you'd better have your uncle get Peeves something nice after all, Harry. Let's give it a few more minutes, and then - **what**, Neville?"

He turned to glare at Neville, who had been tugging rather insistently on his sleeve, and froze.

They weren't in a room, as they had thought. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between the ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of mad, rolling eyes; three noses twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them in obvious surprise at their sudden appearance. Unfortunately surprise faded quickly, and it began to growl.

Alan reached for the doorknob at his back, threw it open, and shoved Harry and Neville behind him. A hand closed on the back of his robes a moment later, another on his arm, and he was yanked, stumbling, backwards through the door. He kicked at it desperately, just managing to slam it closed in the dog's face, and was being dragged down the corridor before he even realized what was happening.

They reached the Fat Lady in record time, and thankfully she'd returned at last from wherever she'd gone. "Where have you all been?" she asked, looking quite startled as she stared at them.

"Nevermind that - pig snout, pig snout," Harry gasped. The portrait swung open, and they stumbled through, Alan and Harry just managing managing to pull Neville up and over the threshold before they collapsed to the floor in a pile.

For several minutes they stayed there, trembling and trying to breathe. "This ... " Harry whispered finally, "Never happened."

Alan and Neville nodded swiftly in agreement.

"Unfortunately," a very familiar voice spoke up, "I don't think that's going to be an option."

As one, they looked up very slowly.

Virgil stood over them all, arms folded and foot tapping. He did not look pleased to see them.


	13. Busted

Having Virgil talk to Alan is both easier and harder than I thought it would be. The conversation comes easily, but I find it hard to keep Virgil from telling Alan things I don't want him to know yet. -Eyes Virgil- Stop that.

Also, I'm finding that imagining Virgil as a Hogwarts student is both fun and increasingly easy to do. -Looks gleeful-

Chapter 12: Busted

"Would one of you like to explain to me what you're doing out of bed at this hour?" Virgil asked calmly, staring down at them with a foreboding expression.

The three boys looked at each other.

"Well - "

"Er - "

"You see - "

"One at a time," Virgil interrupted, holding up a hand.

Harry let out a sigh. "We were supposed to have a wizard's duel."

"Harry and I were," Alan cut in quickly. "Neville was only locked outside until we let him in - "

"No, I wasn't!" Neville insisted. "Well, I was, but after Alan and Harry found me, I followed them on my own!"

Virgil raised a hand to stop them again, this time bringing the other up to cover his eyes with a long sigh. "Who had the duel?"

Alan raised his hand.

"Why?"

"Because Montague called the Potters Blood Traitors," he said quietly.

"Then Flint said Alan cost the Ministry money because his parents left him," Harry added, ignoring the glare Alan shot him.

"You were planning to duel with Flint and Montague? Alan, are you **crazy**?" Virgil demanded incredulously. "Flint has five years experience on you! Even Montague has two! You've barely started learning the basic spells - you could have been seriously hurt!"

"I'm not helpless," Alan retorted, jaw clenching. "Just because I haven't done loads of spells yet doesn't mean I don't know **how**."

"There's a huge difference between knowing and doing," Virgil said darkly, running a hand over his hair in aggitation.

"But ... Alan had to go," Neville spoke up hesitantly. "They were insulting his family."

"And I would have if he didn't," Harry added, glaring up at Virgil fiercely.

"I don't doubt that," Virgil muttered, rubbing his forehead again. "All right, so why didn't you tell someone about this?"

"Because I'm not a coward," Alan snapped. "I could handle it on my own."

Virgil looked down at him, raising his eyebrows. "And did you?"

"They never showed up," Neville said miserably. "Filch came instead."

"So they set you up," Virgil sighed. He suddenly looked very tired.

"We think so," Harry admitted.

"Filch caught you?"

Alan shook his head. "No. We ran. Peeves almost busted us, but then he didn't."

Virgil frowned down at them. "So is that why you all came running in here like you were being chased by rabid dogs?"

All three of them flinched.

"Um - "

Virgil's eyes narrowed.

"We ... accidentally found the third floor corridor," Harry confessed.

"Harry!" Alan hissed.

Virgil's eyes widened, and he was suddenly crouched down in front of them, checking each of them swiftly for injuries. "Are any of you hurt? What happened?" he demanded anxiously.

"There was a dog," Harry began.

"A really **big** dog," Neville added, shuddering.

"With three heads," Alan muttered darkly.

Virgil pulled back enough to stare at them. "You ran into a giant, three-headed **dog**?"

They nodded.

"It was really big," Neville said helpfully. "With lots of teeth."

Virgil's eyes narrowed again "Did it bite any of you?"

Alan shook his head. "No, we caught it by surprise, so we had enough time to get out and shut the door before it could attack."

Virgil sat back on his heels, looking at them all for a moment. "I should give you all detention for this. At the very least," he said finally.

Alan just looked at him. He was honestly too tired to care what punishment they got. So long as it was after a long night's sleep and a good breakfast, and nowhere near the third floor corridor, he'd do it without complaint.

"I should **really** write home about it," Virgil added, frowning.

Harry flinched, turning slightly pale. Neville didn't look much better.

Then Virgil sighed. "I **should** ... but I think getting the scare of your lives was enough punishment." He offered them all a slight smile, reaching out to tussle Harry and Neville's hair. "Go on up to bed, you two. We'll follow in a minute. I want to talk to Alan."

Alan sighed, but Harry and Neville climbed wearily to their feet. "Good night, Virgil," Harry murmured. He hesitated, then leaned over to give his cousin a hug. "Thanks."

Virgil squeezed back. "Night, Harry." He let him go, eyeing Neville for a moment. "Neville, are you going to be all right? I can go to the hospital wing and get you something if you need it."

Neville, who still looked very pale and shaky, shook his head, forcing a weak attempt at a smile. "No thanks, Virgil. I'll ... I'll be all right."

Virgil looked somewhat skeptical, but he nodded. "Well, if you change your mind - either of you - let me know. You know where my room is, right?"

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Virge."

"You're welcome. Now good night." He pushed gently them towards the stairs with a soft smile. He waited until they were out of sight for a full minute before turning back to Alan.

Alan met his stare unflinchingly.

For some reason, that seemed to make Virgil smile. "So," he said softly, adjusting himself to sit cross-legged. "What did Flint say that made you snap?"

Alan blinked. " ... Sorry?"

Virgil's smile widened a little. "What did Flint say that finally made you lose your temper?" he clarified.

Alan frowned. "I don't see how it's any of your - "

"Alan. Please." Virgil's voice was still soft, almost understanding. "I want to know what he said to upset you."

Alan's jaw clenched. "It's not important."

"I don't believe that."

"Well, I'm not asking you to believe it," Alan snapped back. "It's just not, all right?"

Virgil sighed. "Alan ... " He paused, looking thoughtful, and leaned forward to study his hands. "Do you know why Flint called my hands pretty?"

Alan gave him an odd look. "Because he's queer?"

Virgil laughed. "No. Because he found out in my third year that I play the piano, among other things. He called it a sissy hobby, and said it was for poofters." He paused. "I broke his jaw. And my hand."

Alan stared at him.

He looked down at his right hand thoughtfully, flexing his fingers as he studied it. "I was lucky to be at Hogwarts when I did it, or I might never have been able to play the same way again. And then I would have broken more than his jaw."

"Why'd you hit him?"

"Because my mother taught me how to play," Virgil said simply. "Now that she's gone, it's one of the few things I have left that makes me feel connected to her. When he said it was sissy ... " He shrugged. "I saw red."

" ... So what happened after that?" Alan asked hesitantly.

Virgil grinned faintly, leaning back on his hands. "Oh, Scott tore me a new one - until John asked why I'd done it. Flint spent the rest of that year and the next ducking into random doors and girl's bathrooms to avoid them both. He still won't come near me unless he has to, and I have a sneaking suspicion Gordon's been getting some revenge in his own way."

Alan looked down at the floor, chest aching.

A hand caught his chin, gently tilting his head up. "Alan?"

He shut his eyes tightly. "He said I still need big brother to protect me."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I see," Virgil said quietly.

He grit his teeth. "No. You don't."

He pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head. "You ... you have older brothers. And a younger brother. And you ... you have a family." His voice cracked audibly, and he swallowed hard. "Look, it's just ... He just got on my nerves, all right? Don't worry about it."

"Alan - "

"Are we done here?" he interrupted. "Because I'd really like to get some sleep."

Virgil sighed. "Yeah, we're done."

He made it as far as the staircase before he heard Virgil call his name again. Resisting the urge to growl in frustration, he turned to face him, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. "What?" he demanded irritably.

There was an odd look on Virgil's face. It was like the one he and Gordon got sometimes that Gordon had claimed was because Alan reminded them of their brother, but at the same time it was more than that. He was clearly about to say something, and judging by his expression, it was something he wasn't sure Alan wanted to hear.

And then he stopped. Sighing quietly, he murmured "Good night."

Alan nodded stiffly. "Good night."

He headed up the stairs again, feeling oddly disappointed for some reason.


	14. Halloween

Just to be clear, this is **NOT** a Ron-bashing fic! Or anyone-bashing. Ron's behavior is based on the fact that he is honestly just as prejudiced as Draco in everything but whether or not Muggle-borns should be allowed at Hogwarts. And even when it comes to talking about the things Muggles do, Ron's comments in the books make it clear he's still slightly prejudiced - just in that he thinks they're crazy, not in the way that he hates them.

Also being that he and Draco don't like each other, that means that Draco's friends won't like him in this story either. So no Harry&Ron friendship, at least for now. I'm not saying that Ron and Hermione won't **ever** be friends with Alan and Harry and company, but this will never be a Gryffindor Golden Trio/Quartet story.

Chapter 13: Halloween

On Halloween morning the students awoke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. It was a pleasant way to greet the day, and certainly brought most of them out of their beds with a smile. In some cases, there was even a bit of a bounce in their step.

For everyone except Alan.

Once again he lay in bed, head buried underneath his pillow and refusing to move. He hated Halloween. With a passion. As far as he was concerned, the day should be striken from all calenders and never spoken of again.

"Alan, come on," Harry groaned, tugging at the blankets. "You can't miss breakfast."

"There's pumpkin bread," Neville offered tentatively, giving a half-hearted pull from the other side.

"M' not getting up," Alan informed his mattress. "Not 'til tomorrow."

"You have to get up. We have classes, and they won't let you skiv unless you're in the hospital wing. Trust me, I've tried," Harry persisted.

"Don't bloody care."

"Someone's a bit cranky this morning," Seamus Finnegan remarked mildly, sounding amused.

Alan's fists clenched.

"He um, had trouble sleeping," Neville mumbled awkwardly.

"Alan gets cranky when he doesn't sleep enough," Harry added.

Seamus snickered. "Does someone need a nap?" he mocked.

Growling furiously, he surged upright, sending blankets flying and Harry and Neville stumbling backwards with cries of surprise. "No," Alan hissed, eyes narrowing dangerously at his startled roommates. "Alan does not need a bloody nap. Alan needs everyone to just back the bloody hell off, all right?"

Ron Weasley stared at him, looking surprised. "Maybe you should try going to bed earlier, mate. Might do you a bit of good."

Snatching his wand of his nightstand, he sent a stinging hex at Ron before the red-head could do more than yelp in pain. Shoving his wand into his pocket as he got feet, he leveled everyone in the room with a glare. "The next person to so much as **breathe** in my direction will get a lot worse," he snarled, snatching up his robes for the day and storming into the bathroom.

No one spoke to him after that. Harry and Neville waited for him before heading to breakfast, but they made a point to talk quietly with each other instead and leave Alan alone. At least one good thing had come out of the other night's adventure, Alan thought darkly.

The look Pansy gave him when he dropped into his seat at the table was considering, but there seemed to be a hint of understanding in her eyes he hadn't seen on anyone else's face. She said nothing however, only brushed his elbow gently before asking Draco to pass the syrup.

Alan spent most of the meal eating in silence, staring at his plate and ignoring the people around him. Only Pansy's voice eventually caught his attention, and it was more for what she was saying than the fact that she was speaking at all. Pansy loved information, and already had one of the best gossip and social networks in the school. If there was anything worth knowing, she was the one to know about it.

"Did you hear," she was murmuring just enough for the group at her table to hear, as well as Harry as he leaned in close, "That Montague and Flint have been in the hospital wing since yesterday? Rumor has it that someone hexed them beyond recognition, but they won't say who it was."

Draco snorted. "Must be too embarasssed."

"Those gits deserve whatever they get," Harry said darkly, reaching for his toast.

Alan spared just enough thought to wonder who might have done it. It seemed a bit too coincidental that Montague and Flint, who weren't exactly friends and shared only a house, happened to be attacked as a pair. As far as he was aware, the only thing either of them had done recently was the wizard's duel Flint had with him, but the only ones who knew about that were -

He lifted his head enough to eye Pansy thoughtfully, but while smug at the information, she wasn't dropping any hints that she really did know who'd done it. That meant it hadn't been her or Blaise, who had been the only other people present when he'd accepted the duel. And he knew it wasn't Harry or Neville. And that left -

He stared at his pumpkin juice for several moments, wondering. At last he shrugged it off, deciding it didn't matter, and downed the rest of the goblet.

The rest of the day didn't improve any from that point. Halloween was a very big holiday for the wizarding world, and most of their classes for the day seemed to have been themed in favor of it. Herbology had them dealing with the massive pumpkins the gameskeeper, Hagrid, had been growing in his garden for the feast being planned for dinner. Even Transfiguration involved a demonstration on turning lanterns into glowing pumpkins.

Charms was nearly the saving grace of the day, when Flitwick finally announced that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly - something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the castle. He put them into pairs to practice, and Alan found himself with Neville, who was respectful enough of his black mood to be fairly quiet and not ask too many questions. Harry was stuck with Finnegan, and Alan almost cheered up a little when Finnegan accidentally set their feather on fire.

But then Weasley, who'd been paired with Hermione Granger, had to push his luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Weasley shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Granger snapped at him. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

Weasley, who never took to criticism very well, promptly snarled back "You do it, then, if you're so clever."

Granger rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose up off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Weasley, of course, was insulted by being told what to do by someone who actually had an idea of what they were doing. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," Alan heard her tell Finnegan and Dean Thomas as everyone pushed their way into the corridor at the end of the class, "She's a nightmare, honestly."

Thomas stumbled slightly, making Alan stop short to keep from bumping into him, and they both turned to see who had shoved past. It was Hermione, and Alan caught a glimpse of tears on her face just before she ran down the hall.

"I think she heard you," Thomas told Weasley quietly.

"So?" Weasley returned, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must have noticed she's got no friends."

Gritting his teeth at the insensitive comment, Alan gripped his wand, subtly aiming it at Weasley's bag. "_Diffindo!_" he muttered, smirking slightly as the bag split at the seams, sending a shower of books, parchment, a quill, and a couple bottles of ink to the floor. The ink bottles promptly shattered.

Stepping carefully over the mess as Weasley swore and cursed his 'faulty' second-hand bag, Alan slipped his wand into his pocket. He ignored the looks Harry and Neville were giving him.

_Stupid git should know better than make a girl cry_, he thought indifferently.

He spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped back up in his blankets in his dorm, curtains drawn around the bed. It was common practice to take a nap before Astrononmy class that night, so no one bothered him. But Alan wasn't sleeping.

Instead he'd cast a silencing charm around his bed, buried his face in his pillow, and finally gave into the urge to cry.

He hated Halloween.

Most people saw it as a holiday. The Ministry was known for throwing large, elaborate parties to celebrate, where everyone drank firewhiskey or spiced wine, reminiscing about relatives passed briefly before moving on to commemorating the fall of You-Know-Who. Alan was always brought out for Minister Fudge to show off, smiling and nodding as everyone wished him a Happy Halloween, shaking their hands and accepting their thanks for defeating the Dark Lord. They never bothered to notice when he didn't say anything in response.

For Alan, Halloween wasn't a holiday. It was the day his parents had been murdered, and he'd been left an orphan. It was the beginning of his life as the Ministry's pet. For him it was a day to grieve, and instead, people were _celebrating_ it.

And this year he had the knowledge that it was only his mother that had died ten years ago today. Now he knew that somewhere in the world, he had a father. A father who didn't even remember he existed.

He'd never felt so alone in his life.

He eventually emerged just in time to scrub at his eyes and slip into the Great Hall for dinner before he was missed and someone came to get him. He'd have avoided it completely if he could have, but he knew Harry would have dragged him if he'd tried. The other boy always insisted it was never healthy to brood. And he wouldn't put it past Harry to rat him out to Aunt Lily if he skipped a meal.

He ignored the decorations and the cheery greetings many people gave him, focusing instead on his plate and waiting impatiently for the food to appear. The faster he'd eaten something, the sooner he could escape again. He could already feel more than one set of eyes on him, and had to fight not to snap at them. He'd already cursed Weasley plenty of times today, and hexing anyone else in front of multiple witnesses was just stupid.

"Did you find Hermione?" he heard Lavender Brown ask.

He glanced up.

"Still in the loo," Parvati Patil returned, sounding somewhat sympathetic, but only mildly concerned as she began to load her plate. "She said she wanted to be left alone."

Frowning, he'd just reached for a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Toll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know."

Then he sank to the floor in a dead faint.

Pandemonium broke out. Several students started screaming, and teachers scrambled up from their chairs. It took several purple fireworks exploding overhead from the end of Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he commanded, "Lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy Weasley promptly leapt to his feet with a disturbingly cheerful expression. "Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

Alan followed obediently along with the rest, making sure to hang to the back of the crowd. They'd be sending someone for him shortly, he figured. Maybe Virgil, since he was Head Boy and seemed to like Alan for some reason. Would there be time to grab his sword from upstairs in his trunk, he wondered, or would they want him to take care of the problem as soon as possible, even if it was just with his wand?

And that's when he remembered Hermione.


	15. Battle with the Troll

Another Thunderbirds character gets to make a cameo! ... Or at least be mentioned. I'm curious to know how many will catch it, as I actually had to hunt the man's name down. I remember his face, but I couldn't catch his name.

I suck at writing fight scenes. So, in an effort to improve, I write them as often as I can. I would love some constructive criticism for this chapter, especially from anyone who might happen to have any swordfighting experience. My own is extremely limited, and I'm sure could use some improvement.

Gore warning ahead.

Chapter 14: Battle With the Troll

Slipping away was easier than it probably should have been. Alan wasn't sure if that should have been a mark against Percy Weasley for lack of observational skills - or at the very least, the inability to keep an accurate headcount - or against Harry and Neville for not noticing him leaving. Maybe the teachers, for being so easy to evade?

Well, it didn't really matter.

Biting his lip, he tried to remember the swiftest way to the dungeons. Would the troll have moved on by now? Professor Dumbledore hadn't seemed too concerned about the Slytherins heading down to their common room ...

Spying a suit of armor leaning against the wall just ahead of him, he smiled humorlessly. "Excuse me," he murmured politely to the suit as he began to gently pry the sword it was holding free. "I need to borrow this for a bit."

He paused to judge the heft and balance of it for moment. It was definitely not the highest quality, but it was thankfully too sturdy to just be decorational. A bit heavy for him, but it wouldn't take long for him to adapt. He'd used worse.

First thing was first, he decided. Find Hermione and get her to safely to Gryffindor Tower, then tackle the troll. He'd like to go after the troll first, but Hermione probably didn't even know what was happening yet. He couldn't take the chance of her trying to head up to her room now and getting caught in the middle of something.

He'd just passed another empty corridor when the worst possible smell hit his nose. It was a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilets no one wanted to clean. The kind of smell usually attached to something you didn't want to meet in a dark alley.

_The troll's already left the dungeons_, he realized in growing horror. _Did they get all the students to their dorms yet?_

There was nothing for it.

He charged forward, gripping his borrowed sword tightly, and skidded around the corner.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

_Mountain Troll_, Alan acknowledged grimly as it stopped to stare at him in surprise. _But what's it doing here? How'd it even get in?_

The troll waggled its long ears as its beady eyes narrowed, finally making up its mind. It raised its club, and swung straight at his head.

Alan rolled, coming up to his feet and bringing his sword up as he stepped back as far as he could without being far enough to lose the troll's interest. He needed to be able to keep an eye on its arms well enough to know when to dodge, and unlike most opponents, a troll wouldn't show its next move in its face the way he'd been taught.

_If only Mr. Mullion could see me now_, he thought wryly.

Actually, he was kind of glad Mr. Mullion **couldn't** see him. He'd always been the strictest of Alan's tutors, and was never satisfied with anything he did. He'd probably have been lecturing him about not getting a properly balanced sword first or something.

The troll swung again, and Alan ducked forward, spinning around to slice at the back of its knee as he passed. It roared in fury, thick black blood slowly beginning to seep from the cut and down its leg.

It turned faster than he'd expected, flinging its club at him in an angry backhand. Alan tried to move out of the way, but the end of it caught him and knocked him flying. He cried out as he slammed into the wall and slid down.

The troll was already advancing on him again, and he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the screaming pain in his ribs and back as he fumbled for his sword. It had landed a good foot away from him when his grip loosened upon hitting the wall. _Block it out, block it out_, he chanted silently at himself. _Pain is nothing. You have lives to think of._

The troll moved; Alan rolled.

His ribs sent another spike of pain through him, but he managed to close his hand around the sword again as he passed. He gasped as he surged to his feet again, backing away as far as he dared. He had to find a way to lose that bloody club; he didn't have a chance as long as the troll was armed.

_Left side_, he decided, tightening his grip around the sword. _Knee's making it stumble. Get the hand on that side._

He shifted his weight back and forth, sliding just enough to confuse it. It hesitated just long enough, and he charged again, swinging the tip of his sword up and forcing along the side of the troll's arm. He stumbled as it caught bone, wrenching it free just fast enough to stumble away again as the troll howled in pain.

He scowled as the troll reached up to clutch at the long line in its left forearm that was already beginning to ooze. _Damn. Sword's not sharp enough. Well, nothing for it._

He ran at it again as the troll stared down at its arm, trying to understand what was happening, and dove under the club before it could see what he was doing. Lunging forward, he drove the sword straight into the right side of the troll's ribcage.

It screamed, stumbling back, and he lost his hold on the sword.

He swore, reaching for his wand instead. While a good hit, he hadn't managed a killing blow - not close enough to the heart. _Spell, spell, need a spell_, he thought frantically.

Then he realized the troll had dropped its club.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he blurted out, swinging his hand in a desperate attempt at a swish and flick.

The club immediately jumped up into the air, hovering over the troll at the direction of his shaking wand tip. Then it dropped without warning, giving a sickening crack as it landed on the top of the troll's head. The troll swayed on the spot, then fell backwards with a thud that made the whole hall tremble.

Alan stood still for a moment, wand still shaking. Then he moved carefully forward to prod at the troll's massive foot with his wand.

It didn't move.

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, letting out a great sigh as he slipped his wand back into his pocket. He watched it for a moment, then sighed again quietly when he realized it was still breathing.

It took a moment to yank the sword free from its ribs, but it finally came free with a hard pull and a squelching sound. He stumbled back from it, arm flying upwards as he nearly fell. Struggling to regain his balance, he lowered the sword, looking down at the troll.

It lay quietly, bleeding out onto the floor. It looked different somehow, now that it wasn't moving. Almost sad. He felt sort of sorry for it.

Closed his eyes with another soft sigh, he gathered the last of his strength, and swung downwards as hard as he could.

He was tired and the troll was big, so it didn't work on the first try. It took several moments to wrestle the sword back out of its throat, but the slice had made it nearly halfway. The next swing definitely killed it, but he wrenched it free again for one last blow, to make sure the head was completely severed. The sword clanged sharply as it struck stone, and at last the head fell free.

He stumbled back against the wall with another sigh, closing his eyes as his breath hitched in his chest. His body was making its complaints known now - loudly. The sound of gurgling blood finally reached his ears. Combined with the horrible smell it was awful, but he was too tired and sore to care.

It was over. The school was safe. That was all that mattered.

The sound of someone retching caught his attention, and he looked up.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Quirrell stood at the end of the hall, staring. Professor Pettigrew had his head sticking out a window behind them, as he was apparently the one throwing up. Quirrell was staring at the body of the troll, eyes wide and face pale as he clutched at his chest with a hand. Professor McGonagall was staring at Alan, her lips white and face nearly as pale as Quirrell's, looking angrier than he'd ever seen her.

"What ... what on Earth were you thinking of?" she demanded, sounding shaken and furious at the same time.

Alan knew he should have straightened up to greet them better, but he was too tired and in too much pain. "Sorry about the mess," he murmured, glancing down at the troll.

"The mess?" McGonagall shrilled. "You're lucky you weren't killed! Why - why - what - " She seemed to be at a loss for words, from fury or something else Alan couldn't be sure.

"You ... you cut off its head," Quirrell mumbled. He seemed to be in shock.

Alan blinked at them wearily. "I'm sorry, Professors, but is there anything else? I'd really like to get to bed."

"Bed?" McGonagall stared at him, eyes bulging. "You snuck out of your dorm, **killed** a fully-grown mountain troll, and you want to go to bed?"

"I didn't sneak out," he corrected. "Hermione Granger's been hiding in the girl's loo all afternoon. I was worried the troll was going to find her first, so I left before I got there."

For some reason, this didn't seem to make McGonagall any happier. She turned a funny shade of red, trembling and puffing up like she was going to explode or burst into tears.

"That is quite enough, Professor McGonagall."

She spun around. "But Professor Dumbledore - "

"That is enough," he repeated softly, his eyes on Alan. There was something in his odd in expression. "My boy, are you all right?"

Alan nodded. "Tired, Sir," he admitted. "Sorry about the mess."

"I'm afraid the mess is the least of our concerns tonight," Dumbledore returned. "I must ask, why have done this?"

Alan frowned slightly. "The head? It was bleeding to death anyway - "

"Why," Dumbledore interrupted in a calm voice, "Did you come after the troll at all? Did you not hear the order for all students to go to their dormitories?"

"Of course I did," he replied, confused.

"He said something about Granger, Professor," McGonagall spoke up, giving an aggitated sigh as she narrowed her eyes at Alan again.

Dumbledore's eyes remained on Alan. "I see. And you did not think to tell a Prefect about Miss Granger's absence?"

"No time," he said with a shrug, trying not to wince as his ribs protested. "I would have prefered to get my own sword, but well," He shrugged again, immediately wishing he hadn't. "I figured the sooner the problem was taken care of, the better."

The odd look on Dumbledore's face increased, and he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Mr. Sheppard, you seem to be misinterpretting my question. Why, I am asking, did you go after the troll yourself?"

Alan stared at him blankly. " ... I'm sorry?"

"Well, you should be!" McGonagall burst out.

Dumbledore raised his hand to silence her. "Why did you go after the troll, Mr. Sheppard?"

Alan frowned, shaking his head slightly in confusion. "Because it was a threat to the school. I mean, what if it had hurt one of the students?"

"Again, you misunderstand me," Dumbledore said quietly. "Alan. Why did you assume it was your duty to stop the troll, and not that of the staff?"

For several moments they stared at one another. McGonagall's eyes had widened, and now Quirrell was looking from Alan to the troll and back again in confusion. Pettigrew had finally emerged from the window, pale-faced and wiping at his mouth, and was gaping at Alan.

"Because that's why I'm here," Alan said slowly. "Isn't it? That's what I do. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived."

"You - what?" McGonagall sputtered. "What are you talking about? You're here to learn."

He frowned, then winced, reaching up to touch his ribs as another spike of pain went through him. "It's my job to save the wizarding world," he reminded them. "That's why I went after the troll. Because it's my job to protect everyone."

McGonagall's eyes widened again almost comically, and she seemed speechless. Quirrell was now staring at him in shock, and Pettigrew looked horrified.

Dumbledore was looking at Alan's hand against his stomach and frowning. "I thought you said you were all right, my boy."

"I am," Alan returned, wincing as his breath hitched.

Dumbledore seemed to sigh. "I suppose the better question would have been, 'Are you injured at all'?"

He blinked, wondering why there seemed to be a gray edge to everything. "Oh. Only a little. Got caught by the club when it knocked me into the wall. Think I cracked something. Maybe broken, not sure. It hurts a lot." There was an odd clanging sound, and he closed his eyes. "Prof'ssor?" he slurred. "I think ... I'm going to bed now."

And that was the last he knew.


	16. Tea with the Gamekeeper

I am probably one of the few writers who actually enjoys writing accents. Hagrid's in particular fascinates me.

Alan angst ahead! -Listens to cheering-

Chapter 15: Tea with the Gamekeeper

He awoke in the hospital wing, where he was informed he would be confined to bed rest for at least the day, possibly tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey bustled around him constantly, shoving potions at him and performing diagnostic spells and muttering darkly under her breath. She seemed furious with him, and he didn't know why.

The news about his fight with the troll spread very quickly, and by that evening he had been delivered several presents from many students he'd never even met. There was more candy than he knew what to do with, several get well-notices, and a bouquet of flowers from someone in Hufflepuff. There was even a hand-written thank you card from Hermione Granger, who claimed he saved her life.

His friends managed to drop by throughout the day to see him. Blaise brought homework and carefully detailed notes to keep him caught up in class, as well as a book for him to read to pass the time. Vincent and Greg helped make a considerable dent in his pile of candy, and Vincent snuck in a small radio for him to use. Neville had been distraught, torn between apologizing for not noticing he was missing sooner, and anxiously asking if Alan was all right. Harry and Draco had arrived together and spent five minutes telling him he was in idiot, then another ten arguing over which one of them's fault it was. But he could tell there was something they weren't saying, because neither could quite meet his eye.

Pansy came alone and sat beside him, taking his hands in hers. After several minutes of staring at him, she informed him he was an idiot, and then pulled him into a very careful hug that lasted nearly as long as Harry and Draco's argument. At one point he'd thought his shoulder might have been damp, but he couldn't be sure.

She spent the rest of the time telling him what the rest of the school thought of his adventure with the troll. Apparently it was a toss up between whether he was a hero and whether he was an idiot, although there was a small school of thought that was now terrified of him, because not many eleven year olds could take down a mountain troll and live. (There had also apparently been some rather gruesome details shared about just how he'd defeated the troll, which had them wondering if he was a bit deranged.)

The greatest surprise visitors had been first Gordon, and then Virgil Tracy.

Gordon brought him a queer little book he'd called an 'activity guide', which was supposed to keep Alan from getting bored until he was released. It was a Muggle invention, Gordon had explained, something his brothers had introduced him to as a child in a vain attempt to keep him occupied for long periods of time. He then proceeded to talk Alan's ear off about anything and everything, from pranks he had planned, to things he had seen in class, to the rumors going around school about what Alan had done. (Sadly, Pansy's information network seemed to be a bit better than his, as it was nothing Alan hadn't already known.)

Virgil on the other hand, had appeared out of nowhere while Alan was napping and scared him half to death sitting at his bedside when he woke up. He'd said nothing for the longest time, eventually reaching out to gently tussle Alan's hair. "You're bad for my health," he said finally. "I haven't had this many heart attacks in such a short period of time since Gordon first discovered fire."

Alan stared at him blankly. "If I'm bad for your health, then why do you hang around me?" he returned.

The look was back, the one were Alan was sure Virgil had something to say. He actually opened his mouth, stopped, and at last gave a sad little smile. "Because I like you, kiddo. And I care about you."

Alan narrowed his eyes.

"So what happened when Gordon discovered fire?"

****

The next morning wasn't much better. Lucy brought him a howler from Aunt Lily, who was apparently furious with him for doing something 'so dangerously irresponsible'. Strangely enough, there had been a few lines from Scott Tracy in it as well, along with some incoherent sputtering that was either more of Scott, or James in the background. He couldn't be sure.

Madam Pomfrey released him with a warning to be careful and a dark look that promised retribution if she saw him again anytime soon. He took it as an invitation to skiv classes, because he definitely didn't feel like going now.

Instead he wandered down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest with his book from Blaise and radio from Vincent. He'd tried the activity book Gordon gave him, but there were too many Muggle-related questions he couldn't answer and he soon gave up. Sitting under a tree just outside the forest, listening to the Weird Sisters and reading, it was the most peaceful time he'd had in ages.

"Oy!" a familiar voice called after he'd been sitting there for some time. "The Forbidden Forest is off limits ter all students!"

He looked up to see the huge gameskeeper, Hagrid, walking toward him with a frown. "But I'm not in the forest," he pointed out. "I'm next to it."

Hagrid blinked at him for a moment. His beard twitched slightly. "So yer right," he agreed, nodding. "But ain't yeh suposed ter be in class?"

"Madam Pomfrey wants me to be careful," he said innocently. "I thought History of Magic might be a bit much, with trying to sit up straight and all."

Hagrid laughed, a great, booming sound, and stopped in front of him. "How's about havin' a cup o' tea with me?" he offered, eyes sparkling. "Yeh look like yeh could use a friend."

Alan blinked up at him, genuinely surprised. Slowly, he began to smile. "I guess I could."

Hagrid, as it turned out, lived in a one-room hut at the edge of the school, just beside the Forbidden Forest. He had a huge black boarhound named Fang, who once calmed at the idea of a new visitor, spent the rest of the time sitting with his head on Alan's knee and drooling.

"So what's got yeh skippin' class ter sit out 'ere by yerself?" Hagrid asked, settling a very large cup of steaming tea and a plate of rock cakes in front of him.

Alan shrugged a shoulder.

"Come on now, I'm only tryin' ter help," Hagrid coaxed. "Seem's like yeh got a lot on yer shoulders."

Alan laughed shortly before he could stop himself. "I suppose you could say that."

And almost without meaning to, he found himself confiding in the large man. Hagrid was an excellent listener, letting Alan talk and nodding along at the appropriate points without seeming to losing interest. He told him about his classes, how the other students treated him. He talked about the troll and how he'd gone after it, and how the teachers and his friends and guardians all seemed to be angry at him for some reason he didn't understand.

"Yeh were brave enough t' take on somethin' that woulda scared most people witless," Hagrid said gruffly at last. "There ain't no shame in bein' brave."

Alan looked up at him, feeling suddenly shy. "You really think so?"

Hagrid reached out to pat his hand gently. "I do. An' I think yer guardians and yer friends are only angry 'cause they care about yeh. Don't want anything t' happen to yeh, that's all."

"But I've had six years of lessons in defense," Alan protested. "I'm not helpless. I know what I'm doing."

"Aye, an' I don't doubt that," Hagrid agreed. "But yer also only eleven years old. Most people see that before anythin' else. Maybe you can protect yerself, but that don't mean yeh should have ter. That's what grownups are supposed ter be fer."

He frowned. "But ... I - " He shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand."

Hagrid sighed, giving him a sympathetic look. "Don't worry so much about it fer now, Alan. Just remember that people are gonna worry about whether or not yer safe."

He nodded slowly, still trying to process the idea. He knew his friends cared, but it wasn't the same. No one had ever been angry at him for doing what he was meant to do.

"Anythin' else been on yer mind?" Hagrid prodded.

He shrugged a little. "Just my mum, I guess."

An odd look came over Hagrid's face. "Ah. Lucille was a great lady, she was," he said, nodding solemnly.

Alan looked up sharply. "You knew her?" he asked eagerly.

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably. "Well - no. Not exactly. I met her once or twice. She was always real sweet ter me, y'see. But I wouldn't say we were close friends or nothin'."

"Oh." He looked down at the table, slipping a rock cake to Fang. Hagrid, while a nice person, was not a good cook. "I just ... " He swallowed hard. "I don't know her," he confessed softly. "I don't know what she was like or ... anything really. I mean, people tell me I look just like her all the time, but I - " He swallowed again as his voice cracked audibly. "I've never even seen her picture. And now ... Now I have some father who I thought was dead, who's not dead but doesn't remember I exist and all these relatives showing up out of **nowhere** saying they've been looking for me for years and I just - " He stopped, shaking his head and blinking back tears. "I don't know who to trust."

Hagrid let out a great, soft sigh. "I can tell yeh, yer family ain't lyin'," he said at last. "Yer parents didn't tell many people about yeh when yeh were born. Yer mum worked fer the Ministry see, and there weren't many people yeh could trust there back in those days. Still ain't, ter tell yeh the truth. An' then after yeh disappeared, yeh pretty much went off the map. No one outside o' the higher ups in the Ministry had any idea where yeh were, an' they wasn't sharin'. Didn't want to let yeh out of their sight, I figure. S' practically a miracle the Potters found yeh at all, but they must have been pretty determined ter get yeh home where yeh belong."

Alan stared at the table in silence for several minutes. "Do you know who my father is?" he asked quietly.

Hagrid hesitated. "I do," he said slowly. "But I ain't sure if yer really ready ter hear about him."

He looked up with a scowl. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hagrid sighed again. "Alan ... yer father ... He's a good man, don't get me wrong. A real honorable one. But losin' yer mum ... even not rememberin' about you ... it broke him. He packed up yer whole family and left the wizarding world for the Muggle one. Wouldn' a had anythin' to do with it at all if it weren't fer your brothers - "

Alan froze. "I have brothers?"

Hagrid paused, his eyes widening. "I shouldn't a told yeh that," he murmured, looking uncomfortable.

It was a bit like the feeling when the troll had tossed him into the wall: all of the breath seemed to have left his body in one go, and his chest was painfully tight. He felt light-headed. "I ... brothers?"

Hagrid was starting to look concerned. "Alan - "

"I ... I need to go," he managed, gently pushing Fang off his knee and staggering for the door. "I ... thanks. For the tea, I mean. I'll um, see you later, Hagrid."

He shut the door behind him, ignoring Hagrid's protests, and slowly began to stumble toward the castle. "Brothers?" he whispered to himself.


	17. For Love of Quidditch

Throughout writing this story, more and more odd little mini-plots are working their way into my brain. This is both fascinating and frustrating.

Alan's comment about eating soap-flavored Every Flavor Jelly Beans comes from personal experience.

Chapter 16: For Love of Quidditch

The morning of the first Quidditch match of the season dawned very bright and cold. By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised in the air, Harry explained when he saw Alan look at them oddly, but it was still difficult to see sometimes.

Alan was rather excited despite himself. This was to be his very first Quidditch match. While he knew a great deal about the game, he'd never actually seen one in person before.

Neville hadn't either, but he wasn't quite as excited about it. Harry on the other hand, was proudly carrying a tiny red flag with a gold lion on it that he'd been given by one of the upper years at breakfast. He'd always been an avid Quidditch fan, a fact he attributed to years of attending matches with his father and uncles.

"About time you lot showed up," Draco groused as Alan and Harry shuffled their way into the Slytherin part of the stands. He eyed Neville, who was being dragged along behind Alan quite unwillingly. "Oh. You brought some pre-match entertainment."

"Shut it, Draco," Harry said calmly. "Neville's our friend, and we wanted him to sit with us."

Draco did a double-take, staring at Harry incredulously. "Are you serious? You mean Longbottom's sucked you in as well?"

Pansy eyed Neville with a smirk. "I suppose running for your lives together does bring people closer," she murmured.

Neville promptly flushed. "Y-you mean you know about that?" he stammered.

Pansy laughed. "Longbottom, I know **everything** that goes on in this school."

Harry nodded in affirmation. "If there's anything worth knowing, Pansy's your girl."

"You're so sweet to me, Harry," she purred, wrapping her hands around his arm. She paused, looking down at his hand. "What is **that**?"

"A house flag," Harry returned, looking amused. "To support my team. I'm sure you've heard of them, Pansy. They're the ones playing today, remember?"

She glared at him as Draco and Alan snickered. "What are you doing bringing a Gryffindor flag into Slytherin territory? You might as well offer yourself up on a platter with a sign saying 'Free eats'!"

Draco got an odd look on his face. "Thank you, Pans, for that horribly disturbing mental image," he said dryly.

Alan wrinkled his nose. "Seconded."

"Just because I'm sitting with my friends doesn't mean I don't want to see my own house win," Harry told Pansy patiently. "I brought the flag so I wouldn't be completely drowned out by the lot of you."

Draco eyed Alan and Neville. "You two aren't rooting for Gryffindor, are you?" he demanded.

Alan shrugged. "I don't really care who wins. I'm just interested in seeing a live game."

"Me, too," Neville admitted. "My gran doesn't like Quidditch much, so I've never seen a match before."

Draco stared at him in horror. "You've never **what**?" he demanded, appalled.

Neville shifted uncomfortably. "I know how it's played and all the rules," he mumbled. "I've just never ... watched."

Draco seemed about to say something, but then the teams were walking out of the locker rooms, and everyone started cheering.

"Do you have any snacks, Greg?" Alan asked, leaning back to look at the other boy, because Greg almost always had some sort of food on him.

He nodded, digging into his pockets for a moment and pulling out several different types of candy. Alan snagged a pumpkin pasty and some Every Flavor Jelly Beans.

"M-may I have a chocolate frog?" Neville asked tentatively. "I don't need the card, if you'd like to keep it."

Greg shrugged, dug around in his pocket again, and handed him three.

Neville beamed. "Thanks!"

Greg nodded shortly, grunting in reply.

The others were stunned. Greg wasn't known for sharing snacks unless he liked you, and he rarely liked anyone. He was very picky about who he got along with for reasons he wouldn't explain, and as a result, Vincent was usually the one to talk for him if Draco wasn't around to speak for them both. For him to just pass over chocolate to Neville - several for that matter - was practically a miracle.

Vincent studied Greg for a moment. "This one's all right?" he muttered, too low for anyone outside of their small group to hear.

Greg nodded, mumbling something that none of them could pick up.

Vincent looked at Neville, then slowly offered a hand. "Don't think we've really been introduced," he said finally. "Vincent."

Neville took his hand and shook it carefully, looking floored. "Neville."

"Vincent likes anyone Greg likes," Harry explained as he leaned over to look at Neville. "He's really protective of him."

Neville blinked.

Vincent sighed. "We're brothers," he muttered. "Half."

Greg looked up, giving a faint smile. "Vince looks out for me," he said simply.

It was a bit more than that, though even Alan didn't know the whole story. Greg was the result of Victor Crabbe's illicit affair with Mallory Goyle, and had been born only four months after his heir. Victor was said to have paid for Greg's schooling, but otherwise wanted nothing to do with him, as did most of the Crabbe family. Vincent on the other hand, had been quite taken with his younger brother from the moment they'd met. Greg had always been a little slow and shy, so Vincent made sure that no one picked on him. Greg had never made a secret of the fact that he adored his brother in return.

"That's lucky," Neville sighed, looking wistful. "I always wanted a brother."

"GRYFFINDORS SCORE!" the commentator bellowed, prompting a loud burst of cheering.

Harry was the only one cheering as the rest of the Slytherin section booed and hissed.

Pansy glared at him. "If you're attacked before you even leave this box, I'm not lifting a finger to help you," she sniffed.

"Of course you won't," Harry returned absently. "Draco will get involved first, which means you won't have to."

"Who says I'm going to protect your sorry bum?" Draco demanded.

Harry popped an Every Flavor Bean in his mouth. "Because Alan will help me, which means you'll help him." He paused, made a face, and shuddered. "Ugh. Soap."

Alan elbowed him. "Prat. Why didn't you save it for me? That's one of my favorites!"

More than one person looked at him oddly. "You're mentally deficient," Blaise declared, shaking his head.

"Well you can't eat a bunch in a row," he argued. "But they're not that bad."

"But it tastes like soap!" Neville protested.

He shrugged. "I think it's interesting."

"You and your obsession with faulty products," Draco muttered, shaking his head.

Alan shrugged again. He couldn't really argue that one.

Harry sighed. "Wish they'd hurry up and notice the bloody - "

"Was that the snitch?" the commentator asked, cutting himself off in mid-sentence.

"Finally!" Harry groaned as the two Seekers dove after it.

One of the Slytherin Chasers dropped the Quaffle as he turned to see, and everyone became intently focused on the Seekers. They were neck and neck, the Gryffindor Seeker reaching -

And then Marcus Flint dove in front of him, cutting him off from the Snitch.

"Fowl!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Alan glowered. "Bloody b - git." He may have hated Flint, but he knew better than to use the word 'bastard' around Vincent and Greg. Friend or not, Vincent would probably break his nose.

He was just lucky that they were, or he'd get worse.

Draco frowned as Madam Hooch lectured Flint angrily before ordering a free shot to Gryffindor. "This isn't fair, you know. I wouldn't care about the cheating if it was anyone but Flint. But since it is, I'd like to see the pillock nailed in the face with a bludger."

"Would there be a difference?" Pansy murmured, smirking.

"Why wouldn't you care about the cheating if it wasn't Flint?" Harry demanded of Draco, looking offended.

"Because he's trying to win the game in any way he can. If he has to cheat to do it, then he should bloody cheat," Draco explained. He frowned. "But it's Flint."

Alan groaned quietly as Draco and Harry began to argue the 'fairness' of cheating. "They can go on for hours," he warned Neville. "Best to ignore them until they get really irritating."

They returned their attention to the match, watching as Slytherin scored against groans from Gyffindor. Greg produced a packet of licorice wands and distrubted them among the group. Neville asked him what his favorite candies were, which immediately brightened Greg's day, as food was one of his favorite subjects.

Alan watched the Weasley twins in fascination as they moved about the field. They seemed to work as one unit, in a way the Slytherin teams's beaters couldn't match. No words needed to be said; they were just somehow aware of where each other were at all times.

Were all brothers supposed to be like that, or was it just twins? He frowned, playing with his licorice wand. It must be a twin thing, if it was. He'd never even considered that he might have other family besides his parents. Even after the Potters had come into his life -

The Potters.

They knew, he realized with growing fury. If he was really their cousin's son and they really had been sincere about looking for him the way Hagrid said they were, that meant they knew all about him. They knew who his brothers were, and where they were now.

Had they been taken by the Ministry, too? How many brothers did he have, anyway? Hagrid had made it sound like there was more than one. Two? Three? Did they know about him, or had they been Oliviated, too? Did ... would they want him? They'd lived without him for ten years now ... maybe ... maybe they -

"Will you two shut the bloody hell up?!" Neville exploded.

Everyone froze, turning to stare at Neville, who was glaring furiously at Draco and Harry. "I can't even hear the commentary over you!" he raged. "How's anyone supposed to enjoy the match with you two screaming at each other like five years olds fighting over a broomstick?!"

For several minutes, there was complete silence.

Pansy drew a sudden shaky breath, putting a hand to her chest as she turned to Draco with wide eyes. "Oh ... oh, Draco! Can we keep him?"

Neville blinked, startled. "What?"

"He **yelled** at you!" she gushed. "We have to keep him!"

"He likes food," Greg added, brightening as if this was the only endorsement Neville really needed.

"We like him," Vincent said simply as Blaise nodded in agreement.

Draco was still staring at Neville, completely stunned. "I'll be," he muttered. "It seems you do have a spine, Longbottom."

Neville promptly flushed.

Draco's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he was suddenly looking Neville up and down. "What's your family fortune?"

Neville frowned slightly. "Dulcis."

Draco's eyebrow raised. "Moto?"

"If you cannot find a way, make a way."

Alan watched the two of them with interest, glancing back and forth between them. Neville was clearly confused as to why Draco was asking questions about his heritage. Draco, meanwhile, was subtly being impressed by the fact that Neville was actually able to answer. Only the oldest of Pureblood families taught the old ways and values anymore, and it was rare to find someone their age who knew them. Draco was one of the few.

And apparently, so was Neville.

"Lineage number?"

"512th." Neville looked solemn. "But I'm the last of my generation."

Something seemed to change in Draco's eyes. "I don't like you, Longbottom," he said abruptly. "You're clumsy, have no social grace, and your attempts at pretending self-confidence are pathetic. It's disgusting."

Neville's brow furrowed in hurt, and his shoulders sagged.

"So I'm making you my new project," Draco went on. "We'll start this weekend. Don't make plans."

Pansy looked at Draco in surprise, Harry confusion. "You're making him a project?" Harry repeated blankly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's what I've just said, isn't it? Honestly, Harry. Open your ears once in awhile."

"Don't start up again," Alan groaned. He turned to Neville, who seemed lost. "Draco likes you," he leaned to murmur. "He wants to help you improve. That's what he means."

Neville looked worried. "Improve what?" he whispered back.


	18. Buddies and Bullies

I have come to the conclusion that it's very hard to write about Alan by himself and unsupported by his family. It's fascinating to think of what he'd be like without them, but at the same time, incredibly difficult to keep from letting him find out about them already. Doesn't help that the whole reason I adore the Thunderbirds (and most especially the Thunderbirds fandom) is for the potential brotherly fluff.

This isn't one of my better chapters; the ending wouldn't cooperate. So I eventually gave up and left it.

Chapter 17: Buddies and Bullies

_My Dear Alan,_

_How are you my boy? School going well? You're learning a great deal, I'm sure. Top of your classes, right? You always were a fast learner!_

_Life around the Ministry just isn't the same without you, my boy. We're lacking a certain energy you always bring with you wherever you go, I'd say. Many of your old friends here have asked after you._

_Say, have you any Chrismas plans this year? You're expected at the annual Ministry Yuletide Gala, of course. I've inclosed an invitation for you. We do hope to see you there._

_How are the Potters treating you? Everything going well? If they upset you at all, just let me know and we'll give them what-for!_

_Looking forward to hearing from you again soon,_

_Cornelius Abraham Fudge, Minister of Magic_

Alan stared blankly at first the letter in his hand, then the formal invitation it had come with.

"What's that, Alan?" Neville asked.

"A letter from Fudge," he answered, brow furrowing. "And an invitation to the Ministry's Yuletide Gala."

"You've got an invitation to the Yuletide Gala? Oh, you're so lucky!" Lavender Brown gushed.

"You can have it if you want," he offered, prompting a burst of laughter at the Gryffindor table.

Lavender pouted. "Don't tease, Alan. That's mean!"

"But I wasn't - "

Harry's elbow dug into his side. "Sorry, Lavender. But you make it so easy!" he said loudly, grinning at her.

Lavender continued to pout, and Alan went back to frowning down at his letter. Why was Fudge writing to him? He only saw the ruddy pillock whenever he was dragged to a Ministry function, and Fudge spent anywhere from ten minutes to an hour pretending he and Alan were the best of friends.

His other letter of the day had come from Scott Tracy, which confused him as well. Scott had asked how his classes were going, and if he was having any trouble with anything. He asked about his health, and wrote a funny story about his brother John, who had apparently had a terrible accident involving a broom and the family's swimming pool. Something about the way he'd told it left Alan with a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what had been wrong with the broom.

Even stranger, he apologized for his additions to Aunt Lily's howler.

_It was brought to my attention - rather painfully - that you were only doing what you thought was right, and I should be more grateful that you escaped as well as you had and less of a hypocrite_, Scott wrote. _The first thing that came into my head when I heard the news was how badly you could have been hurt instead of pride for how well you did. I guess I've got to get used to the idea that you're not helpless, but I really can't say I like the idea. You'll always be our little Allie to me._

"Harry?" Alan said suddenly, brow furrowing. "Did Mr. Tracy know me when I was a baby?"

Harry glanced up at him. "Which one?"

"Scott."

Harry shrugged. "I think so. He doesn't talk about it much though, if he did." He thought for a moment, then turned to wave at someone further down the table. "Hey, Gordon! Come here a minute, will you?"

There was a moment of scuffling, then Gordon jogged towards them with a smile, tussling Harry's hair and forcing his way in between him and Alan to sit down. "Morning, Harry! Morning Alan! Whatcha need?" he asked cheerfully, snagging a pancake off the platter across from him and eating it with one hand.

"Did Scott know Alan when he was a baby?"

Gordon paused.

Alan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Gordon took several moments to chew before finally swallowing. "He did," he said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"It's this letter he wrote me," Alan told him, watching him carefully. He lowered his voice, not wanting anyone to overhear. "He said I'd always be little Allie to him."

Gordon said nothing at first, but there was an odd look in his eyes again. "Scott used to spend a lot of time with you when you were little," he said eventually, his voice so soft it was hard to hear. "He ... well, you two really adored each other. It almost killed him when we lost you."

Alan frowned down at the letter again. Scott had known him? Was that why he was so persistent about wanting to get to know him now? Because he'd ... missed him?

"Just how close were we?" he asked suddenly.

The corner of Gordon's mouth twisted into a sad, ironic smile. "Well, he was the one who taught you how to walk. And your fourth word was either Scott or you were mimicking a raven; we were never really sure."

"What were the first three?" Harry wondered.

The smile softened a little. "Mama, Dada, and 'room'. As in fast, not a room in a house." He glanced at Harry. "Your first word was Pafoo, which Uncle James still hasn't forgiven you and Sirius for."

Harry grinned sheepishly as Alan and Neville snickered.

"You didn't call him Dad until you'd named everyone else first," Gordon went on, grinning, "And even then it took everyone awhile to figure out what you were actually saying. See, we thought you were yelling that something was 'wrong'. Once we finally realized what you wanted, everyone teased him and Aunt Lily for ages about corrupting you."

Everyone around them laughed as Harry blushed.

"He wasn't corrupted; he was well trained," Pansy corrected with a sniff, smirking faintly.

Gordon laughed heartily as the bell rang, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he stood up. "That's about what Aunt Lily said. I'll catch up with you two later." He tussled Alan's hair as he passed, stealing one of his sausages.

Alan frowned to himself as he slowly began to get his things together. Just why **did** the Tracys say they'd known him so well? How many cousins had his mother had, anyway?

"Alan, hurry up or we'll be late," Harry said impatiently.

"Coming," he muttered, snatching a last sausage as he grabbed his bag.

* * *

Scott's letter stayed on Alan's mind for the rest of the day. His thoughts kept turning over different senarios, trying to understand. Why was the Tracy family so interested in him? Why hadn't the Potters ever told him he had other family? What else were they hiding?

But he was too scared of the answers to bring himself to ask.

He was so destracted by his thinking he barely noticed that he'd lost sight of Harry and Neville sometime after Charms. He supposed it didn't matter much; he'd see them at dinner anyway.

That's when he caught the faintest whisper of cloth behind him.

"Look, it's the little Slytherin lover," a voice purred behind him.

"Where are all your Deatheater friends, Sheppard?" added another. "Going darkside on us already, are you?"

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing dangerously. **No one** got away with insulting his friends. "Jealous that I actually **have** friends?" he shot back. "Unlike the two of you, who have to buddy up with your fellow sheep."

The two second year students smirked at him. "They're not your friends, Sheppard," the second informed him. "They only hang around you because you're the Boy-Who-Lived. Why else would they bother?"

"We saw you," the first hissed at him, glaring. "Hiding in the Slytherin stands at the match. Couldn't even bring yourself to cheer on your own house, could you? Too busy sucking up to the rich and powerful."

"You'd know all about sucking up, wouldn't you?" he returned coldly. "How else would you be passing your classes?"

He barely had time to duck before the fist came flying at his head.

* * *

Harry looked up as Alan joined him and Neville at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. "There you are!" he said cheerfully. "We were starting to think you weren't coming."

"Sorry," Alan murmured. "Was thinking." He reached carefully for a roll, being sure not to move his wrist anymore than he had to. The knuckle had popped back into place well enough, but he still wasn't sure if he'd sprained it or not.

" ... Are you all right, Alan?" Neville asked, looking worried.

He glanced up, forcing a small smile despite the swelling in his jaw underneath the glamour charm he'd used. "I'm all right, Nev," he said quietly, trying not to cringe at the pain. "Just tired."

Neville bit his lip. "If you're sure ... "

Pansy was eyeing him suspiciously, but then Draco started ranting about the Transfiguration homework and she lost interest.

Giving a faint, grim smile to himself, Alan slowly began to eat. It wasn't anything worth mentioning anyway. He could handle it on his own.


	19. Christmas Confusion

Non-abused Harry is kinda fun to write. He's sort of turning into my comic relief, but in a good way. It's all James and Sirius' influence, I swear.

And Gordon was so not meant for lecturing. -Snickers-

Chapter 18: Christmas Confusion

"All right, I surrender."

Alan looked up from his cauldron, blinking. "Sorry?"

Harry had turned around on his stool from the table in front of the one he and Draco were using to face them, hunched over to rest his elbows on their table with chin in his hands as he watched Alan. "I surrender," he repeated. "Give up. Forfeit. Yield. Concede defeat. Sub - "

"Enough already, we get the point!" Draco snapped. "What are you babbling about now?"

Harry ignored him to reguard Alan thoughtfully, tilting his head. "Something's on Alan's mind again, but he's not saying what it is. I've been trying to figure it out all morning, and I've decided that I give up." He shifted his chin to one hand, reaching forward with the other to prod Alan with a finger. "So what's bothering you?"

Alan frowned slightly. "Nothing's - "

Draco and Harry both stared at him. Pansy stopped quietly instructing Neville as they both turned around. To his right, Greg looked up, while Vincent folded his arms and raised his eyebrows silently. Even Blaise stopped chopping up the ingredients Harry had been ignoring long enough to look at him.

Alan rolled his eyes. "I'm just trying to figure something out, is all."

"Which is what we're here for," Harry informed him with a smile. "Shoot."

He frowned. "Shoot what?"

"Muggle saying," Harry corrected, waving a hand dismissively. "Tell me what you're trying to figure out."

He sighed irritably. "Your mum sent me a letter this morning."

"Oh, those are always confusing," Harry agreed, nodding solemnly.

Draco leaned forward to smack him upside the head just as Alan ducked enough to kick him under the table.

"Ouch! Sorry, sorry! All right, what did she say?"

Alan sighed again. "She ... sent me money. She said it was for Christmas presents."

There was a long moment of silence.

"And this is bad **how**?" Draco asked warily.

Harry leaned over to punch him in the arm. "Don't be daft. Alan's not used to Christmas shopping, that's all."

"I have catalogues you can browse if you'd like, Alan," Pansy offered.

He closed his eyes, feeling frustrated as he fought another sigh. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Harry asked, trying to poke him again.

Alan dodged his finger. "I've never gotten a Christmas present to understand the point of giving one," he explained in frustration. "And I don't understand why she gave me money in the first place. Am I supposed to use it to buy something for her? I - "

"What the bloody hell do you mean, you've never gotten a Christmas present?" Draco interrupted sharply, glaring at him.

His brow furrowed. "I mean I've never gotten one."

"Bullocks," Draco snarled. "I've sent you something every Christmas since we were six. If you didn't like what I got you, you might have bothered to **say** something."

Alan stared at him. For years, he'd felt hurt that his friends had never sent him anything for his birthday or Christmas, but he'd pushed it down. Hearing Draco insist he had left him feeling something bordering on betrayal. "I've never gotten any presents," he said quietly. "Not one."

Harry was frowning now. "But I sent you presents every year, too," he argued. "I always - "

"Mr. Potter," squeaked Professor Pettigrew from behind him. "If you'd like to receive a grade for today's class, you had best help your partner with your potion."

Harry spun around, giving him a look mock-hurt. "Professor P, you wouldn't! I'm one of your favorites!"

The corner of Professor Pettigrew's mouth twitched. Harry was one of the few people who had ever dared to call him Professor P, and the only one who could get away with it - and they both knew it. "Favorite or not, you still need to put some effort into my class, Mr. Potter," he said firmly. "You can finish your conversation after you've finished."

Harry pouted at him, but he moved to see what Blaise was working on now. "You're cruel, Professor P." He peered over Blaise's shoulder and got a mild glare in return.

Alan frowned down at his cauldron. Harry, too? Why would his friends lie about something like this? They knew how he felt about growing up the way he had.

Maybe they weren't lying? But why would the Ministry keep him from getting gifts? Sure Fudge was an idiot, but he wasn't cruel. He had no reason to hide something like that.

Alan bit his lip, glancing at Draco out of the corner of his eye to see the other boy scowling at the bloodroot he was powdering, blatently ignoring Alan. He sighed quietly, looking back down at the cauldron. He didn't know who to believe anymore.

* * *

"What do you think you're doing?"

Alan looked up, blinking at Harry. "Reading," he said slowly. "I thought it might have been obvious. You know, with the book in my lap, and all."

Harry glared at him. "You signed up to stay at school for the holidays. I saw McGonagall's list."

"Of course." Alan frowned, not understanding what the problem was.

Harry folded his arms, looking cross. "You're supposed to be coming home with me."

Alan stared at him blankly. "Since when?"

"Since always!"

"But ... I thought ... " He trailed off, frowning in confusion.

"You thought **what**?" Harry demanded. "That we'd actually leave you at school while I went home?"

He shrugged slightly, feeling awkward now. "I thought you'd want to spend time with your family."

"You **are** family, you twit!" Harry lunged.

Alan tumbled backward over his chair with a yelp, nearly bashing his head against the ground as Harry's full weight landed on top of him. He tried to squirm out from underneath, but Harry was grabbing for his hands. He kicked sharply, trying to roll on top as Harry cried out in pain.

"Hey!" a voice cried sharply, and suddenly they were being pulled apart and yanked to their feet.

Gordon glared at him both, a hand on the back of each boy's shirt. "What's going on here?" he demanded. "You two know better than to fight like this!"

"Alan's being an idiot!" Harry said with a scowl, folding his arms again.

"And that's an excuse to attack him?"

"It is when he's being this stupid!"

"I'm not being stupid!" Alan argued.

Gordon sighed. "Should I get Virgil?"

"No," they said in unison, Harry irritated and Alan exasperated.

He released their shirts, shoving them both to sit down on the couch instead as he stood in front of them. "All right, so who started it?"

They pointed at one another.

Gordon reached up to rub his forehead, muttering something about 'Scott' and 'never again'. "Let's try this again. Harry, why did you jump Alan?"

"Because he's - "

"Besides him being an idiot," Gordon interrupted, ignoring Alan's glare.

Harry scowled again. "He signed up to stay at school for the holidays instead of coming home."

Gordon looked genuinely startled, turning to stare at Alan in surprise. "Why on Earth did you do that?"

Alan sighed. "Because I figured the Potters would like to spend Christmas with family. I thought I'd save them the trouble of worrying about where to send me and just stay here."

"You **are** family!" Harry snapped again, reaching out to slap him upside the head.

"Ow!"

"Okay, cut it out before I really do go get Virgil," Gordon cut in hastily. He turned to look at Alan with a puzzled frown. "Alan, what makes you think no one wanted you to spend Christmas with them?"

Alan sighed again. "Look, I'm not upset about it," he assured them. "It's nothing new, so don't worry about me. I'll be fine here on my own."

"Don't avoid the question," Gordon returned, frowning at him. "Why didn't you think you'd be wanted at Uncle James and Aunt Lily's?"

He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's not important," he said eventually. "And I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, sure," Gordon snorted. "You two stay right here. I'll be back in a sec."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Neither moved to speak. Harry was clearly too angry, and Alan was starting to get annoyed. Why was everyone making such a big deal out of this?

Gordon finally returned with Virgil in tow. Virgil raised an eyebrow at them both, then glanced back at Gordon. Gordon shrugged in return, sighing.

"Why don't we make this simple?" Virgil said finally. "Alan, Aunt Lily and Uncle James are expecting you to come home with Harry."

Alan frowned at him suspiciously. "How do you know?"

"Because we're supposed to be coming over to visit with them on Christmas day," Gordon informed him. "Scott and John, too. John's been really looking forward to meeting you."

Harry perked up at that. "John's coming?"

Virgil spared him a smile. "That's right."

"Wicked!" Harry cheered. "I haven't seen him in ages!"

Alan frowned. "John's the one that Scott charmed his broomstick to dump him in the swimming pool, right?"

Gordon burst out laughing. "Are you kidding me? He didn't tell me about that!"

Virgil silenced him with an elbow, ignoring the way Gordon continued to snicker quietly. "John's older than me, but younger than Scott," he confirmed. "It's been hard for us to see him since he joined NASA."

Alan stared at him blankly. "What's NASA?"

"The National Air and Space Association. It's a Muggle space program in America," Virgil explained. "John's training to become an astronaut."

Alan continued to stare at him.

"He's going to go up into space."

Alan wrinkled his nose without meaning to. "Why?"

"A kid after my own heart," Gordon sighed happily. He stepped back quickly as Virgil glared at him.

"John's chosen career aside," Virgil went on, still glaring at his brother, "Everyone's looking forward to seeing you, Alan."

Alan sighed. It wasn't worth fighting over anymore. "I'll go talk to Professor McGonagall," he muttered as he got up. Maybe spending Christmas with relatives would help him see what the big deal was.

He pretended not to notice Harry and Gordon exchanging smug looks.


	20. Shopping for Family

I'm getting really fond of Vincent and Greg. I'm such a sucker for brotherly fluff. -_-;;

Chapter 19: Shopping for Family

Pansy's catalogues were fascinating. Alan lay back on Blaise's bed in the Slytherin boy's dormitory, Pansy sitting beside him and pointing out things she thought someone might like. He was amused to note that several things had already been circled with notes on her appropriate sizes. Blaise sat at the end of the bed with his latest book, shaking his head. He'd leveled them both with a look when they invaded, but since he hadn't actually complained, neither one was listening.

Vincent's radio played soft music in one corner, and he had his eyes closed as he lay on his own bed, listening. Greg had sprawled at his feet with his transfiguration homework and a few snacks. Every once in while he would poke his brother's foot and murmur a question, which Vincent would answer without bothering to open his eyes. In return, his hand would randomly sneak down to steal one of Greg's snacks.

Draco was on his own bed with Harry, directing Neville as he tried to walk around the room with a book on his head. Alan wasn't quite clear on how this was supposed to help cure Neville's poor sense of balance, but Harry seemed to be entertained by it.

Alan turned another page in the latest catalogue Pansy had given him and paused. In the lower left-hand corner of the page was a pendant with an odd design, and something about it caught his eye. It was silver, with four points of twisted metal surrounding a single round stone in the center.

_The Celtic Diamond_, he read silently. _The points represent the four seasons, inspiring life-change._

His vision blurred, and suddenly he could see four pendants, all in silver, each with a different stone in the center. One stone was pale blue, the next purple. Then a mix of shades of green, and a bright gold. Each stone rested in the palm of a large, callused hand. He couldn't see the faces of the men holding them, but he felt warm and safe, protected in a way he had never been before.

"Alan!"

He jerked, blinking as his eyes cleared. "What?"

Everyone was looking at him with various expressions of concern. "Are you all right?" Pansy asked, frowning worriedly. "You've been staring at that page for awhile now."

"I'm fine," he said after a moment, shaking his head slightly. _What was that? _"Sorry. Just ... got distracted."

He continued paging through and eventually set the catalogue aside, reaching for another with a sigh. "This is hopeless," he muttered.

"How can it be hopeless?" Pansy demanded, frowning down at him. "If you don't know if I'll like something, ask me. I'm sitting right here, after all."

"Wouldn't that contradict the element of surprise?" Blaise murmured, turning a page in his book.

"I'm not having trouble with your present," Alan sighed. "I've got plenty of ideas. I don't know what to get Uncle James and Aunt Lily."

"Something cheap and sentimental," Harry suggested, pausing to munch on a chocolate frog. "They're parents; they have to love it. Makes shopping loads easier."

Alan scowled at him. "First of all, they're not my parents, and second, I don't have the slightest idea what would be cheap and sentimental. And third ... " He trailed off, hesitating, and finally shrugged. "I wanted to get them something nice. I wouldn't even be here now if it wasn't for them."

Pansy frowned. "That's a good point," she murmured. She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Maybe something still sentimental then, but not so cheap? You and Harry could pool your money together."

"Sure, but on what?" Harry wanted to know, rolling over onto his stomach to look at her as his heels kicked back and forth in the air. "Mum and Dad already have everything they could possibly need, and they don't even like the same stuff. The last time I tried to get them something for pranking each other, Mum lectured Dad for an hour about corrupting me. And when I got them a pot of never-water flowers, Mum was thrilled, but Dad managed to kill it somehow."

Draco turned to stare at him incredulously. "How in the world - "

"No idea," Harry interrupted, shaking his head. "We spent weeks trying to figure out the mystery before we gave up and declared Dad death to plants."

"Why don't you ask your cousins if they can look around Hogsmeade for you?" Neville offered hesitantly.

Alan and Harry blinked at him. "Neville, you're brilliant!" Harry declared.

Alan glanced at him. "You really think they would?"

"Oh, sure," Harry promised airly, waving a hand. "Gordon is always offering to pick things up for me. And Virge won't mind if it's for Chrismas presents."

"If you're sure ... " Alan agreed reluctantly.

* * *

"Of course I don't mind," Gordon promised them cheerfully. He grinned at Harry. "Hey, it's too bad you don't have your dad's cloak handy. Then we could just sneak you both - "

"Stop trying to corrupt him more, Gordy," Virgil interrupted with a sigh. "Harry's already bad enough as it is on his own."

"Am not," Harry objected, looking mildly offended. "I've still got ways to go before I'm anywhere near as bad as Gordon is."

"Exactly my point. And I'd like to keep you from getting there," Virgil told him firmly. "Now is there anything in particular you two would like us to look for?"

Something about his words sparked something in Alan, and he paused as he remembered something. "A painting," he said suddenly.

" ... A painting?" Harry repeated after a moment, sounding skeptical.

Alan nodded slowly, trying to remember the details of what he'd heard. "There's a painting in a shop at Hogsmeade ... a girl surrounded by fire, with a bird in the background."

"You mean like a phoenix?" Gordon asked slowly.

He nodded again. "Yeah, that's it. That's what we'd like. If you can find it, I mean," he added quickly.

Virgil was frowning. "I think I might've seen that, actually. But how did you know about it, Alan?"

He shrugged. "I heard one of the upper years talking about it, and I just remembered. The Potter family fortune is a phoenix, isn't it?" He thought he remembered reading that somewhere. Was it in _Ancient Heritage of the Wizarding World_, or _Pureblood Family Secrets Revealed_?

"We have two, actually," Harry told him, looking thoughtful. "Chaos and Karma."

"Calamitus and Fatum," Virgil corrected, shaking his head as he tried not to smile. "That painting would be perfect, actually. We can all go in on it, if you don't mind. Gordon and I owe them something really nice this year, too."

Gordon nodded in agreement, looking contemplative. "And that'll make it easier on everyone's wallets."

"Fine by me," Harry told them, looking pleased at the idea.

Alan frowned thoughtfully. "What's the Tracy family's fortune?" he asked curiously. "I never found them listed anywhere in _Pureblood Wizarding Families of Great Britain_."

"That's because we're not," Gordon answered. "The Tracys are from Kansas."

He stared blankly. "You're Muggle-born?"

"Nope, even worse: American," he returned, grinning as Harry snickered.

"Our dad's American, but Mom was British," Virgil explained. "Dad came to London for work when he was younger, which is how they met. She was a Hogwarts student, but he went to the Salem Academy of Magic."

"Our family fortune is the Thunderbird," Gordon added. "Tempestas."

Virgil glanced at his little brother, smiling faintly. "We don't know where Gordon came from, though. He's half fish," he teased, ruffling Gordon's hair as the other scowled at him.

"Maybe he's a flying fish," Harry offered innocently.

Virgil and Harry laughed as Gordon sputtered in mock-outrage, and Alan's smile faded. He waited until Gordon had pounced on Harry, who called for Virgil to help as he fought to get out from under his cousin's arm. Then Alan slipped away quietly, walking down the hall alone.

It wasn't that he didn't like them. Sure, Harry, Gordon, and Virgil all confused him, especially with their determination to drag him to the Potter's for Christmas. But Harry was easily one of his best friends. Gordon was finally starting to grow on him - much to his consternation - while Virgil was just nice to be around. He always listened to whatever Alan had to say, and he gave pretty good advice.

But it was hard to watch them sometimes. Harry was only Virgil and Gordon's second cousin, but they obviously got along well. And Virgil and Gordon were easily as close, if not closer, than Vincent and Greg. They didn't spend all their time together, but he'd noticed they almost always sat beside one another during meals, and Virgil was often in the Gryffindor common room despite having his own separate room; sometimes just to help his brother with his homework.

He wandered for awhile, feeling incredibly lonely. He knew if he'd stayed Harry and the others they would be more than happy to include him, but it just didn't feel right. He didn't really know them, and they certainly didn't know him. He wasn't even sure if he wanted them to.

Another turn lead him into what appeared to be a dead end: an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastebasket - but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Alan frowned at it, wondering why someone would hide something so elegant in an out-of-the-way place like this. Was there something wrong with it? Maybe it had to do with the inscription at the top? He stepped closer to examine it better, feeling curious.

The moment he was in front of the mirror, he froze. The next he was spinning around, wand in hand as he looked for the intruders - but they weren't there. He was alone.

Turning back, he found that the people were still in the mirror. But they weren't in the room, so they weren't ... real? Were they ghosts?

There were people everywhere in the mirror. All of them walked past his reflection as if he wasn't even there, almost as if he was invisible. They ignored him completely, going about their own business despite his reflection standing in the middle of it all.

His reflection meanwhile, stood in the center of the chaos, looking completely at ease. There was no wand clenched in his fist like the real Alan's was, and he seemed to be almost amused; at his real copy or something else, Alan didn't know. His eyes wandered over himself, and was stunned to see that the reflection had no scar on his forehead.

Alan stared. His eyes burned, and he was distantly aware of tears streaking slowly down his cheeks. He took a careful step forward to press his hand against the glass, and was rewarded by his copy looking up to grin at him openly as everyone else in the mirror continued to ignore them both. There was a light his eyes Alan had never seen in any other mirror.

He didn't know how long he stood there. His other self looked blissfully content. In the end it was only a noise from down the hall that distracted him enough to look away.

When he did, he shook his head to clear it. He felt foggy and displaced, like what sometimes happened if he read for too long. There were shadows creeping along the walls, and he was startled to realize it was dark outside. Shaking himself again, he left the room, pausing in the doorway only once. Then he closed his eyes, brushed away his tears, and hurried down the hall before he could change his mind.

He didn't look back.


	21. Home for the Holidays

Hey, it's not dead! ^.^;

Yes, I am still writing this, and I *am* paying attention to the questions that have been left in reviews - the answers just haven't had the chance to show up more in the story yet. ^_~ Updates will continue to be slow unfortunately, as my muse for this story has been backing off and shoving my ancient Gundam Wing/Harry Potter crossover at me instead.

I thoroughly enjoy writing my version of the Potter family. This may be more than slightly obvious. Oops.

Chapter 20: Home for the Holidays

The one decent thing to come of going to the Potters for the holidays was being able to spend the trainride with all of his friends. Harry and Alan mostly ignored one another as they were both still a little angry, so Draco took it upon himself to fight with Harry for most of the trip. Neville and Greg were discussing food with an enthusiasm that was slightly disturbing, while Vincent watched them both with the closest thing to a smile Alan had ever seen him give, absently feeding treats every so often to his screech owl Aria, who was perched quietly on his shoulder. Blaise had buried himself in another book, while Pansy was painting her fingernails and talking to Alan, who was supposed to be listening to her. Instead he was eyeing Cleopatra, Pansy's sleek, elegant-looking black cat who was looking at him from her owner's lap with an expression that made him nervous. He hadn't spent much time around cats before, but Pansy's cat clearly didn't like him.

"That's because your family guardian is a bird," Draco dismissed when Alan mentioned it. "Bloody cat's biased against them. Probably thinks you're a snack or something. She likes Greg though, watch."

Greg was more than happy to demonstrate his affinity with cats, scratching under Cleopatra's chin as she purred contentedly. "Family fortune's a white tiger," he explained for Neville, clearly pleased by the cat's fondness of him. "Talio."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Alan argued. "The Parkinson family guardian is a fox, not a cat. They're closer to dogs."

"But still not a bird," Pansy reminded him, absently reaching into her pocket for a brush. She ran it down Cleopatra's back gently, smiling as the cat purred even louder, obviously happy with the extra attention.

"And the cat likes to be spoiled," Draco added dryly. "Which we all know Pans is all too happy to do."

He ducked when Pansy swatted at him with the brush.

They all said their goodbyes in the car as the train at least pulled into the station. Draco's parents would have his head if he was caught showing anything remotely approaching fondness in public, as they considered it distasteful, and Pansy and Vincent's parents were much the same. It was a bit sad to watch Vincent and Greg hug briefly; they were both going home to their parents, and with the exception of the Ministry's Yuletide Gala, wouldn't see each other again until they returned to school,

"Hang in there, Alan," Neville murmured as they shook hands. "Maybe this year won't be so bad."

Alan tried to smile at him, but it was clearly forced.

"Come on, then," Harry told him as they grabbed their trunks. He was calmer now, either from the prospect of finally seeing his family again, or the hours of arguing with Draco for no reason. Draco had an uncanny nack for helping Harry wind down somehow, just as he was easily the best at winding him up again.

They'd barely made it into the hall before Alan found himself tackled against a wall by Pansy, who promptly threw her arms around his neck. "Pans - " he choked out.

"Be careful," she whispered in his ear, standing on her tiptoes so she could lean in close. "Be safe. Send me lots of owls." She kissed his cheek as he blinked in surprise. "It won't be so bad this year, Alan. I promise," she murmured, squeezing one last time before pulling away.

He barely had time to stare at her in shock before she was already grabbing Cleopatra from Greg and flouncing off the train with her usual flair. "What was that about?" he muttered, more to himself than anything.

"She's worried about you."

Harry shrugged when Alan glanced at him. "We all are," he said matter-of-factly. "You've been acting weird for days, and you're not talking to anyone. And now that we know about ... well, that."

"Well, what?" Alan asked warily.

Harry hesitated, shifting his grip on Hedwig's cage. He looked strangely uncomfortable. "You never getting any presents," he mumbled finally, too low for anyone else to hear. "When Scott bought you Lucy, I thought ... well, I thought you'd just meant that you never got presents for no reason. But we talked about it, and we realized that all of us **have** been sending you presents for years, but for some reason you never got any of them. And it's ... well, it .. it just makes this Christmas different, that's all."

That was putting it mildly. He eyed Harry. "I wasn't trying to make any of you feel weird or anything."

Harry shrugged. "I know you weren't. But it makes things different all the same. It just means we'll have to work harder at making this year special, is all." He shook his head, adjusting Hedwig again as she hooted at him in annoyance, and seemed to brush the subject off. "Well, come on. Uncle's probably waiting for us outside."

There was something decidedly awkward about being escorted home for the holidays by one of your professors. Harry didn't seem bothered at all by the idea however, greeting Professor Pettigrew outside the train with a ferocious hug and an enthusiastic "Uncle Wormtail!"

Professor Pettigrew seemed amused. "We saw each other barely an hour ago, Harry," he reminded him even as he returned the hug, ruffling Harry's hair when they separated.

"But you were Professor P, then," Harry argued. "And I'm not allowed to treat you like family or everyone thinks you're playing favorites. Now you're Uncle Wormtail again, and I can treat you how I like."

Not that it made much of a difference, Alan thought privately. Harry had always treated Professor Pettigrew how he liked, just without the hugs. And anyone with eyes knew that the professor favored him, even if it wasn't obvious in class.

Why he was calling him 'Wormtail' now though, Alan had no idea.

"Stop channeling Padfoot or I'm telling your mum," Professor Pettigrew returned, cuffing Harry lightly under the chin as he tried not to smile and failed. His gaze fell on Alan finally, and he offered another smile. "Ready to go, Alan?"

Alan shrugged uncertainly. "I suppose so, Professor."

Pettigrew wrinkled his nose. "You don't need to call me professor when we're not in school, Alan. Uncle Peter is fine."

"Yes, Uncle Peter," Alan returned obediently, shifting Lucy's cage to his other hand. Why did all of Harry's relatives insist on being his 'aunt' or 'uncle', anyway?

"We'd better get moving before Lily sends James after us," Pettigrew decided. "Got your trunks?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Yup."

"Follow me, then." And he trotted off through the crowd, leaving Harry and Alan to hurry after him.

* * *

"Wormtail!" James Potter threw open the front door with a broad smile, drawing the other man into a ferocious hug. "Finally escaped the miscreant prison and joined the real world, eh?"

Professor Pettigrew rolled his eyes, patting James on the back roughly and pulling away. "You say that every year, and yet I still go back. And it wasn't so long ago that **we** were some of those miscreants, you know," he pointed out.

James threw an arm over his face dramatically, crying "Wormy! How dare you accuse me of being ... being **old**! The shame!" He turned from Pettigrew, who was rolling his eyes again, to greet Alan with another smile and a slightly gentler hug. "Alan! Good to see you, lad! How was your trip?"

"Fine," Alan answered politely, stiffening a little at the hug before awkwardly attempting to return it. "Thank you for having me."

James waved a hand dismissively as he pulled away. "No need for thanks, you're family after all."

Harry cleared his throat loudly.

James turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow at the way Harry stood with his arms folded, foot tapping in annoyance. "Oh, it's you," he said blandly. "What? Hogwarts wouldn't keep you for hols, then?"

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I suppose you want a hug or something," James sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile.

"I'm telling Mum you tried to send me back," Harry informed him.

"Now now, no need for threats," James said hastily, moving to swoop Harry into a hug as Pettigrew snorted in amusement. He lifted the boy off his feet, spinning him around as he squeezed. He murmured something to Harry Alan couldn't hear, and for a moment it looked like he was kissing the top of Harry's head. Harry reached up to wrap his arms around his dad's neck in response, squeezing tightly.

Alan looked away, swallowing hard.

"**Harry**!" twin voices screamed in unison, as the red-haired blurs of Roseanna and Everett Potter literally tackled their older brother the moment James set him down, pinning Harry to the floor with a yelp. Another, younger voice cried out for Harry as well, and Alan watched as Aurora Black stumbled after them, throwing herself on top of the pile with a delighted squeal. Harry made a sort of pained groan from somewhere at the bottom, while James and Pettigrew both laughed heartily.

"Hello, Alan," Lily greeted him warmly as she left the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Welcome to the madhouse."

"Thank you for having me," he returned automatically, trying not to stiffen when she moved to hug him.

"It's not having you over when you're family, darling," she told him, stroking his cheek with a soft smile. She turned as he fought not to fidget, laughing and calling out "All right, everyone off! And Harry had better still be alive under there when I find him, or there'll be no dessert tonight for anyone!"

"But Mum!" Rett protested, even as he scrambled to get up.

"Now that's just cruel, Lils," James argued, lifting Anna up onto his shoulder as she giggled and squirmed. "Denying the children their dessert? That's practically a required dinner course!"

"Who said I was only denying the children?" Lily returned sweetly, helping Harry to his feet and pulling him into a hug as James looked horrified.

"Don't worry." The sudden voice beside him made Alan start, and he looked up at Pettigrew warily. His teacher offered him a slight smile. "You get used to this. It's a little strange at first, but they'll go out of their way to suck you in as well. James and Lily never like to let anyone feel like a stranger."

"Is that what they did with you?" Alan asked after a moment, frowning a little as Harry made a face at his mother for fussing over his hair.

"Yes." The professor's voice was fond, and the look on his face softened as he watched the family as well. "James and the others made me one of them without a second thought, and when he married Lily, she made a point of treating us all like family. She used to say that families only get bigger, never smaller."

_"Wouldn' a had anythin' to do with it at all if it weren't fer your brothers - "_

Alan swallowed, trying to ignore the familiar ache in his chest. "I see." he murmured.

"When are Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony getting here?" Harry demanded, cutting into his thoughts. Aurora had latched onto his leg and was now sitting on his foot, but he didn't seem to care.

"Tomorrow," Lily assured him. "We'll spend Christmas Eve together, and then have presents the next morning. Scott and the boys will be here in the afternoon."

Harry brightened. "Is John really coming?" he pressed. "Gordon said he was, but - "

"He's really coming," she promised with a smile, ruffling his hair. "He all but insisted he was going to be here this year. Said wild horses couldn't keep him away."

"Brilliant." Harry grinned.

Alan wondered what horses had to do with anything.

"Now. I want you three to put your things away, and everyone needs to wash up for lunch," Lily commanded. "Come on, hop to it!"

"Is it always like this here?" Alan couldn't help asking as he dragged his trunk up the stairs after Harry.

"Yup." Harry grinned widely at him. "Isn't it brilliant?"

Alan shrugged uncertainly. It was different, that was for sure.


	22. A Christmas to Remember

While Santa Claus is never mentioned in the Harry Potter books, I like to think there are two reasons for this: first, being eleven and coming from the life he had, Harry probably doesn't believe in Santa (or anymore at the very least), and second, I can see Santa being considered a Muggle thing rather than a Wizard one, as Santa is magical and wouldn't be very impressive to Wizarding children, because traveling the world in a night would be nothing to them. As to why Santa's mentioned here, Lily, being Muggleborn, would know the story and have told it to her children and by default, the Marauders and Sirius' daughter. Alan, being raised as a Wizard and having little to no contact with Muggles, wouldn't have heard it.

Chapter 21: A Christmas to Remember

The next day quickly became the best Christmas Eve Alan had ever had. He and Harry had woken up to Rett and Anna bouncing on the beds, demanding they get up for breakfast. Harry snarled at them until they ran away, shrieking, while Alan laid back and tried to identify the lovely smells drifting up from the hallway. After breakfast, Harry snitched his father's broom and lent Alan his, allowing them to chase each other around outside for ages. James only laughed when he discovered what Harry had done, reminding them to come inside for lunch.

Sirius showed up just in time to join them, bringing along a very worn, tired-looking man named Remus Lupin. Lupin had smiled warmly at Alan, given his hand a shake, and told him to call him Remus. Alan liked him immediately.

Seeing as Remus was clearly ill, the rest of the day was spent inside, where he could join in. There was much talking and laughing, as well as lots of stories from James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter about their time at Hogwarts. Harry drew his father and Peter into a game of exploding snap, while Remus offered to teach Alan to play Wizard's Chess. While he knew **of** the game and all the rules, he'd never had a chance to play before, and Remus was a very patient teacher. Sirius took the opportunity to help Alan by trying to sabatague Remus every chance he got, which made Aurora giggle at him and Remus glare.

There had only been one awkward moment, when Alan had finally given into curiosity and asked what this 'Santa Claws' that Aurora kept talking about was. The entire room had fallen silent as everyone stared at him, and Alan frowned, trying not to fidget. Then Aurora was climbing into his lap, eagerly explaining the story of Santa to him with wide-eyes while the adults all tried to carry on as normal. Alan still didn't understand what was so exciting about a man who traveled the world delivering Christmas presents, but according to Lily it was an old Muggle legend. Rett and Anna shared Alan's skepticism, and he clearly caught sight of Harry rolling his eyes, but Aurora seemed enchanted by the idea.

Christmas morning arrived much the same way, but this time it was Harry bouncing on Alan's bed, pushing at him and demanding he get up. He only grinned brightly when Alan glared, informing him that presents wait for no one. Crawling back into bed only resulted in having the blankets dragged off of him and himself bodily pulled out of it, halfway down the stairs before he was quite aware of what was happening.

He silently vowed to himself that Harry would pay for this. Somehow. Something unpleasant would have to be done to him soon. Most likely involving Gordon.

He'd seen the Christmas tree the day before of course, and all the presents piled underneath it. But it was a different experience to watch James tossing around packages with a loud call of who it was for, seeing Lily shake her head at him as she passed around mugs of coffee to the adults and set hot chocolate on the coffee table for the rest of them - well out of the way of the Christmas chaos. Sirius, Remus, and Peter had all claimed chairs around the fire, Sirius cuddling Aurora in his lap, Remus watching the morning proceedings with amusement, and Peter yawning and blinking at his coffee. Harry and the twins kept demanding at James to hurry up, which prompted their father to move even slower, once even bashing Harry lightly over the head with one of his own presents when he complained.

Alan started at the sound of his own name. "Yes?" he asked blankly.

Lily smiled at him gently. "Aren't you going to open your presents?"

He blinked back, looking down at the pile that had gathered in front of him without his notice. "These ... are for me?" he asked slowly.

There was a pause, and she leaned forward with a soft smile. Her eyes seemed oddly bright, and her hand hovered in the air for a moment before at last clutching at her coffee mug. "Of course they are, darling. This is your Christmas, too," she said finally.

"Open mine first, Alan," Harry broke in eagerly. He snatched something flat and thick out of the pile, pushing it into Alan's hands.

Alan stared at the package for a long moment, still trying to process the idea that it was for **him**. Someone had gotten something with him in mind, something they thought he would want. He had _presents_.

He opened it slowly, savoring the feeling of the unwrapping and ignoring Harry's impatient bouncing. The paper crinkled in his hands, tearing at the tape - and then he saw the gift.

It was a book. _Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian. He traced the cover for a moment before lifting it, staring at the clean, blank pages. Pages that were fresh and clean, and had no tears or scribbled notes on them. It was brand new, it wasn't chosen by one of his tutors, and it was **his**.

"I thought you might like to learn some spells you haven't already read about a hundred times," Harry pipped up cheerfully. "Do you like it?"

"It's wonderful," Alan murmured, still turning the pages slowly, carefully.

Harry lasted about another minute before he pushed another package at Alan. "Well, go on then! Open the rest! What else did you get?"

"Harry, you have your own presents to worry about," Lily scolded, swatting at him. "Leave Alan his."

"But Mum - "

"Well, if Harry doesn't want his presents, I'll take them."

"Don't even think about it, Uncle Padfoot!"

Alan ignored the sounds of Harry squabbling with his uncle, carefully setting his new book to one side instead. He took the next package Harry had given him, opening it just as slowly as he had the first, savoring the moment. This time it turned out to be a thick scarf in bright yellow, with a matching hat. The accompanying note, once he found it, told him it was from Pansy. _Something to keep you warm that isn't in that hideous red and gold. I expect to see you wearing it. Happy Christmas, Alan. All my love._

He wrinkled his nose at the signature, even as he moved to wrap the scarf around his neck absently. It was soft and thick, and he found himself petting it absently just for the feel of it even as he moved on to the next package.

From James and Lily there were new clothes, which James cited as an obligatory present for any guardian to their child. Sirius gave him a box of pranks from Zonko's Joke Shop that he'd probably pass on to Harry later, as well as a large box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, which Aurora eagerly announced was from her. Remus gave him and Harry both study guides to help him through the rest of the year, and Alan thanked him over Harry's half-hearted complaints, which were muffled by the included chocolate. From Peter there was even more chocolate, which Alan added to a separated pile, intending to hide it from Harry (and Greg) when they returned to Hogwarts.

The rest of his friends had sent him wonderful presents as well, which made him feel a bit guilty for not being so good at this gift-giving thing. Greg and Vincent had chipped in together to send him a large box of Honeyduke's chocolates. From Blaise there was a fascinating book on ancient duels that had to be pried out of Alan's hands to remind him that there were still more presents to open. Neville sent a strange plant he called a Venus Fly-Trap, adding in the note that it was a muggle plant he thought Alan might appreciate. Draco, never one to be subtle - or cheap - sent a beautiful new sword that made his old one look like he'd dragged it out of rubbish bin.

To his surprise, Alan also received presents from Gordon and Virgil. Gordon sent a personalized warded journal, which he promised even he couldn't get into (apparently he'd tried). Virgil's present was a beautiful carved wooden box that played a soft tune when it opened. Alan spent a great deal of time staring at it, listening to the song. It seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn't place why.

At last Alan found himself with only two presents left to open. One was long and thin, wrapped in paper that literally sparkled and shone in the light. There was a large gold bow with trailing ribbons tied around it, attached to a note. _My Dear Alan,_ the note read in fancy script Alan could barely make out. _Many hopes that you will use this to the best of its ability. Fly high, my boy! Happy Christmas, Cornelius Abraham Fudge, Minister of Magic_.

It was a broomstick.

"A Nimbus 2000!" Harry gushed, gaping at it with wide eyes. "That's one of the best brooms on the market! Can I have a go, Alan?"

James was frowning at it. "Who in the world sent you - "

"Minister Fudge," Alan interrupted, feeling hollow. For as long as he could remember, he'd wanted a broomstick. And now his very first, and it came from **Fudge**. Part of him wanted to throw the bloody thing away in protest, but the desire for a real broom of his own - a Nimbus no less - kept him from it.

"Maybe you should check it for jinxes," Sirius muttered darkly.

"Sirius!" Remus hissed, elbowing him sharply.

"Either way, it's not something anyone needs to worry about until after lunch," Lily announced, taking the broom from Alan before he could do more than blink in protest. "I'll put it in the hall for now. You can look at it again later, Alan."

"Aw, but Mum!" Harry whined.

"Enough," she said firmly. "Alan, you've still got one last present. Who's that one from?"

Alan looked down, frowning at the present that had been buried under the wrapping from the broom. "Um ... " He pulled off the tag, and started. "It's ... from Scott and John," he said with a frown. Gordon and Virgil he supposed he could understand, but why would their older brothers send him a present? True, they were supposed to be related, but it wasn't as if either of them really knew him. He'd only seen Scott twice before, and he still hadn't even met John.

Still frowning, he opened the package carefully. He had thought it might be a book, but was surprised to find a thick, leather-bound photo album. Lifting the cover slowly, his breath caught in his throat.

Pictures of a smiling blond woman stared up at him, waving cheerfully. There were several of a dark haired-dark eyed man who always seemed amused, focused more on the person he was being photographed with than the camera. And dozens more, of a baby with bright blond hair and blue eyes. One in particular caught his attention, of a young boy with dark hair and blue eyes holding the baby and beaming up at the camera as the baby squirmed.

_"Wouldn' a had anythin' to do with it at all if it weren't fer your brothers - "_

He closed the album abruptly.

"Alan?" Lily was frowning at him. "Are you all - "

An alarm cut her off, sounding rather like a doorbell. Harry brightened immediately, while James scrambled to move things out of the way of the fireplace. He wasn't quite fast enough; the floo flared green, and someone stepped out, only to stumble over a pile of wrapping paper, flailing. James caught him moments before he landed, to the sound of laughter as someone else came in after him.

"Bravo, Virge!" Gordon Tracy called jubilantly, applauding his older brother with a broad grin as he snickered. "Graceful!"

"Shut up, Gordon," Virgil snapped back, flushing as he righted himself.

"Sorry about that, Virgil," James said sheepishly. "I'm afraid we lost track of time - "

"Then I hope we're not interrupting anything," came a new voice, the person pausing to brush themself off.

"Of course not," James scoffed, even as he moved to hug the man. "Good to see you again, John. How's that Naba business you're into again?"

There was a muffled snort from Scott as he hung up his coat beside the fireplace and covered the front. He ducked back, grinning, as John punched him in the shoulder.

"It's NASA, Uncle James," John corrected, sounding amused. "The National Air and Space Association. And it's going well."

"Better than well," Virgil interrupted, grinning broadly at his older brother. "John's been chosen to go up to the shuttle."

"It's just some routine tests," John protested, but he sounded pleased, and his ears seemed a bit red. "Nothing special."

"You're about to become one of the youngest astronauts in America, Johnny," Scott argued, mussing John's hair. "I'd say that's pretty special."

"Well, yes. But - "

"That's our Johnny," Gordon laughed, looking just as pleased as the other three. "One of the best in the nation and it's still not good enough for him."

"As if you're one to talk," John teased back, ruffling Gordon's hair just as Scott had done to him. "The only reason you're not a Prefect is because you like breaking family tradition."

"It was too much trouble. Besides, Perce needs it more than I do," Gordon dismissed. He turned, eyes lighting up as he caught sight of Alan. "Hey, Alan! Merry Christmas!" he greeted brightly.

But Alan only had eyes for one person.

John Tracy was tall and fit, with blond hair and blue-eyes the same shade as Alan's. _Exactly_ the same as Alan's. It was a bit like looking at an older, slightly distorted reflection in a mirror.

_"I can't tell you that right now. Just ... Just remember that, okay?"_

_"They took something from us. They stole the most precious possession our family had, and we never got it back."_

_"It's because you remind me of my brother,"_

_"Wouldn' a had anythin' to do with it at all if it weren't fer your brothers - "_

John turned to Alan, offering a hand and a warm smile. "You must be Alan. It's great to finally meet you again."

Alan turned and bolted out of the house, ignoring the calls of alarm behind him.


	23. The Ministry Gala

For the record, I hate this chapter. It's badly written and not at all what I'd originally planned, but things will make sense later, I promise.

Chapter 22: The Ministry Gala

His chest felt tight. His breath was coming in great, wheezing gasps. He told himself it was from running so far so fast, but deep down he knew better.

He'd always wondered how the Potters could be related to him. He still wasn't sure if he believed James' story of being his mother's cousin, but they were the first people he'd ever met who could tell him something about her besides that she was brave, had died trying to save him, and he looked just like her. But even then, he looked nothing like any of them. James and Harry both had dark hair, while Anna and Rett had Lily's vibrant red. All three children had their mother's green eyes. Not one of them was pale, blond, and blue-eyed.

That wasn't to say he looked like the Tracys, either. Virgil and Gordon were both tanned and well-built, Virgil with brown hair and eyes, Gordon brown with red hair just like the Potters. Scott was even larger than the both of them, with the same brown hair as Virgil. Scott had blue eyes, but they weren't quite the same shade as Alan's.

But John Tracy ... In John Tracy, he could more than see the resemblance. And it terrified him.

Questions spun through his mind. How closely related to the Tracys was he? Did they know his brothers? **Were** they his brothers? Where was his father? Scott had said his father didn't remember him, but ... would Alan ever be able to meet him? **Could** he meet him?

He eventually stumbled to a stop, throwing up the muffins Lily had set out for breakfast while everyone was opening presents. His eyes burned as he clutched his stomach, trying to keep in a sob. _The BWL doesn't cry_, he tried to remind himself. _The BWL __**can't**__ cry._

At last he found himself a tree to lean against, closing his eyes and trying unsuccessfully to calm his breathing. _I just want to disappear_, he thought dully. _I just want everything to go away._

He didn't notice the creeping darkness around the edges of his vision until he was already falling asleep.

* * *

"Not the best place to be taking a nap, my boy."

Alan's wand was in his hand before his eyes were open all the way. He blinked at the person standing in front of him, men on either side looking ready to hex Alan at any moment if he didn't lower his wand. " ... Minister?" he said slowly, frowning in confusion. "What are you - "

"We're here to pick you up for the Yuletide Gala, of course," Fudge informed him brightly. "We've got just enough time for you to get ready."

Alan blinked again, noting the slowly darkening sky. How long had he been asleep? After a moment, he shook his head slowly. "Uncle James and Aunt Lily - "

"No need to worry, I've already spoken to them," Fudge said quickly. "They've got enough on their plate tonight. They'll just want you to be sure you have a wonderful time, I'm sure."

He frowned again. "They ... ?"

It dawned on him suddenly. Of course. They may have taken him in, but he was still expected to be the BWL, wasn't he? Of course they wanted him to go to the Gala. How else could everyone be sure they were taking good care of him? And sending him to the Gala let them have time for family. For their real family.

A dark corner of his mind whispered that he was wrong, that they did want him, and hadn't he seen John? Hadn't he _noticed_?

But he ignored it, climbing slowly to his feet. "Of course," he said dully, putting his wand away. "We should hurry. Don't want to be late."

Fudge patted him on the back as the Aurors moved aside and finally relaxed. "Of course, of course. Did you get my present, my boy?"

"Yes, sir. It was lovely. Thank you."

His eyes glazed; his senses dulled. Why had he ever believed anything would change?

Because it would never change. This was his life. This was who he was.

This was all he would ever be.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon faded into Fudge babbling at him, the portkey that took them to his old rooms at Davinshire Manor, where he found a set of dress robes waiting for him. Everything around him seemed faded, lifeless. People spoke to him, but his responses were automatic. What did it matter? Why should he care? Clearly no one else did.

He found himself at the Gala quite suddenly, with no memory of when or even how he'd gotten there. It was impressive as always, with Christmas trees and strings of fairy lights and all sorts of sparkling baubles. Fudge remained at his side, loudly introducing him to people, often putting an arm around him and telling them about how well Alan was doing in school. He even talked about the incident with the troll, puffing up like some sort of proud parent while he gushed about how brave Alan was, instinctively protecting the other students the way he did.

Alan wondered how he'd even heard about it. The teachers hadn't been proud of him - they'd been rather horrified, actually. Professor Dumbledore had seemed almost disappointed. Why did Fudge think it was a good thing?

Somewhere in all the fog, he thought he saw a glimpse of Draco discreetly trying to get his attention. He moved instinctively in his direction, but then Fudge was wrapping an arm around him, introducing him to another faceless adult and bragging about all he'd done. He thought briefly of trying to excuse himself, but then they were surrounding him, everyone wanting the chance to speak to him, to touch him. All wanting a piece of the Boy-Who-Lived.

The world spun, blurring into streaks of color and sound. His chest felt tight again, and it was hard to breathe. His stomach rolled, and for a moment he thought he might be sick.

And then suddenly, everyone was gone.

There were hands on his shoulders, and a voice directly in front of him speaking softly, urgently. "Alan? Alan, say something."

He blinked slowly. " ... Uncle James?"

He was yanked forward abruptly, arms around him as he was pressed against a strong, firm chest. "Thank goodness," James Potter murmured in his ear. "You scared the bloody hell out of me, lad. You realize you're grounded, right?"

Alan blinked again. "What's grounded?"

James sucked in a breath, then let it out again in a great sigh. "Come on, let's get you home. Your aunt's been frantic."

"Why?" he asked blankly as he looked up at him.

James stared at him for a moment, finally sighing again as he rested a hand on top of Alan's head briefly before dropping it to his shoulders. "We'll talk about it later. Let's just get you home for now."

"Now Mr. Potter, there's no reason for you both to rush off - "

James turned to Fudge, his expression darkening instantly. "Don't you even speak to me," he hissed furiously, tightening his arm around Alan. "How **dare** you - "

Fudge frowned, even as he fidgetted slightly. "Mr. Potter, there's no need for - "

"No **need**?" James demanded. "You **kidnapped** my ward! I'd say there's bloody well a need!"

Which was sort of funny, Alan thought distantly. Since Uncle James had kidnapped him from the Ministry first.

"I did no such thing!" Fudge blustered. "Alan is a guest and important member of the Ministry - "

"Alan is eleven years old," James snapped back. "He disappeared off my property with no word to me or my wife. I had to be owled by my son's **friends** to know where he was. That bloody well counts as kidnapping in my book!"

"Now see here - "

"Let me make myself **perfectly**. Clear. Minister," he cut in loudly, eyes narrowing dangerously. "If you come near Alan again, I **will** be forced to take action."

Fudge puffed himself up again, nostrils flaring. "I would advise you not to make an enemy of the Ministry, Mr. Potter," he hissed.

James snorted, pulling Alan closer and turning for the door. "Ask me if I care."

"I'll have your job for this, Potter!" Fudge shouted after them as James pulled Alan along gently.

James lifted a hand over his head, waving dismissively.

Alan looked up as they hurried out. "You shouldn't have done that," he said quietly. "He'll be angry."

James stopped to look down at him. "Alan, as far as I'm concerned, Fudge can go hang himself," he informed him firmly. "*You* are my first priority."

Alan frowned slightly. "Because I'm your ward?"

"Because you're **family**," James corrected.

"Prongs! Hurry up already, would you?" someone demanded ahead of them.

"They're following you," added another, sounding anxious.

Alan blinked at the sight of Sirius and Peter waiting for them at the end of the hall. What were they doing here?

"All right, all right," James huffed. "Come on, Alan. I'll Side-Along Apparate with you, all right?"

"All right," Alan echoed quietly, still confused. Why was James going to all this trouble? He didn't understand at all.

There was the familiar awful sensation of being squeezed through a tube, and the next thing Alan knew, he was surrounded by red hair and being hugged tightly. Lily was saying something, standing back to pet his hair and stare into his eyes worriedly, but everything seemed to have gone soft and fuzzy again and he couldn't understand anything anyone was saying. Scott Tracy was there, hugging him just as tightly, and for a moment Alan thought he'd even kissed his hair. He saw Harry staring at him anxiously from the corner of the room, Sirius pacing agitatedly while Remus tried to calm him.

And then Professor Pettigrew was there, pressing a vial into his hands and gentle urging him to drink. He did so automatically, unable to bring himself to care about what it was. He felt very relaxed and tired, and found himself being tucked into bed before he could do much more than blink sleepily up at Scott. A hand ran through his hair gently as the blankets were pulled up to his chin. The gesture was strange, but soothing, and Alan let his eyes close.

"Don't worry, Allie," he thought he heard someone murmur just before he drifted off to sleep at last. "I'll fix this. Somehow."


	24. Conversations Unspoken

This chapter has fought me for months. I think I finally finished it just so I can move on. (Avoidance of difficult topics FTW!)

Chapter 23: Conversations Unspoken

Morning arrived suddenly, leaving Alan blinking at the ceiling above him. The feeling of eyes on him drew his attention, and he turned enough to see Harry resting his chin on his arms against the bed, staring at him. "Morning," his friend offered.

"Morning," Alan echoed quietly.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged a little. "All right, I suppose."

Harry looked skeptical. "You sure?"

He shrugged again. "It wasn't anything I haven't lived with before," he reminded the other boy as he sat up. "It's nothing out of the ordinary."

Harry frowned. "Is that why you left for the Gala without saying anything?" he asked quietly, looking upset. "Because you thought you were supposed to be going?"

Alan was silent for several minutes. "Fudge said your parents already knew where he was taking me," he said eventually. "I didn't think it mattered."

"Of course it mattered!" Harry burst out, looking even more upset. "You ran off without a word to anyone, and we spent hours trying to find you, and the next thing I know Draco's owl shows up with a letter demanding to know why we sent you off to the Yuletide Gala!"

Ah. Draco. So that's how they'd known where to find him.

"You didn't have to come find me, you know," he told him. "I mean, I'd have come back eventually - "

He fell back abruptly, clutching his cheek as pain flared. He looked up to find Harry standing over him with a furious expression on his face. "That," Harry snapped at him, "Was for being an arse."

"How was I being an arse?" Alan demanded, still holding his stinging face as he struggled to sit up again. "I said I'd come back, and I would've!"

"You weren't supposed to leave in the first place, you ruddy pillock!" Harry shouted back.

"Just because your parents were nice enough to take me in doesn't mean I expect them to treat me any differently!" Alan snarled. "I'm greatful for what they've done for me, but they can't change what I am, and I don't expect them to!"

"And just what the bloody hell is that supposed to be?"

"The bloody Boy-Who-Lived, you idiot!" Alan roared.

There was an awkward silence as he and Harry glared at each other in silence for several minutes.

"Harry," a voice cut in quietly.

They both jumped, looking up to find James and Lily in the doorway, watching them solemnly. Lily had drawn a hand up over her chest even as she turned slightly into James, who had an arm around her shoulders. Her eyes seemed oddly bright.

"Would you give us some time alone with Alan, please?" James continued, glancing at his son.

Harry hesitated. His eyes flickered to Alan uncertainly.

Alan lifted a shoulder.

Harry made a face and nodded, scrambling off the bed and heading for the door. He paused one more time, glancing back at Alan as he bit his lip. And then he was gone.

James shut the door behind him with a strangely amused expression as Lily came to sit on the side of Alan's bed. "How are you feeling?" she asked quietly, her eyes softening in concern. She blinked for a moment, and the odd shine was gone.

Alan shrugged a little.

"Alan ... " James paused, sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face before meeting Alan's eyes again. "Why did you leave the house yesterday?"

Alan blinked.

_- an older, slightly distorted reflection in a mirror._

_"You must be Alan. It's great to finally meet you again."_

He forced himself to shrug, pushing away the memories a firmness that came from years of practice.

James' eyes narrowed. "Alan - "

"Why didn't you say anything to anyone?" Lily interrupted him, tilting her head slightly.

Alan shifted his gaze to her. For a moment, he wondered if she really thought he was that stupid. Did she think he was blind? Thoughtless?

He was eleven, not an idiot.

The stalemate lasted for several minutes as he and Lily stared at one another in silence. James was beginning to grow impatient, shifting his weight back and force in irritation. "Why would you even go with Fudge in the first place?" he burst out finally. "Not even asking for permission, just ... why at all?"

Alan blinked up at him, genuinely surprised by the question. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," he reminded them at last.

There was a moment of silence before James finally frowned at him. "Yes, and what does that have to do with anything?"

It was starting to feel like they were speaking two different languages at once. Having two different conversations. Something was supposed to connect between them, but they couldn't seem to manage it. Alan found himself wishing suddenly that they hadn't sent Harry out of the room after all. Harry could be a pain and frustratingly tempermental at times, but he had a knack for translating the world around them so Alan could understand just what it was he was missing.

Eventually he reached up to rub his forehead in an effort to calm the growing headache. "I was expected," he said eventually. "They always expect me. I know that. I was a bit surprised when Fudge came for me himself, but I suppose it was easier for everyone that way."

Lily looked puzzled. "I don't understand. What are you getting at, Alan?"

He felt like crying in frustration. What did they want from him? "I know, all right?" he forced out. "I know what I'm expected to do and where I'm expected to be, and that's fine. You don't have to make an issue of it. I'm used to this. I'm not upset or anything, and I'm not going to throw a fit or something equally ridiculous. It's fine. Now can we please move on?"

James reached up to scratch the back of his head as he frowned, rumpling his hair in the process. "Alan, I really don't see what you're getting at, lad. Just what is it you that everyone's expecting of you?"

Alan let out a puff of air, closing his eyes for a moment as he reined in his temper. When he finally managed to meet James' gaze directly, his eyes were calm and his breathing even. "To be the Boy-Who-Lived," he reminded him simply.

There was an odd silence.

It was broken several moments later by the sound of something smashing downstairs, followed by a loud screech. Lily's head came up in alarm, while James winced, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure it's - " he tried.

The bedroom door opened, and Harry poked his head through. "You may want to get down there," he informed his parents. "I know Mum wasn't that fond of that vase from Grandma, and it doesn't look like anyone's bleeding so far, but they are getting a bit - " Another shriek cut into his words, followed by an answering yell. "Rowdy," Harry finished, wincing slightly.

Lily sighed, already heading for the door as Harry moved aside. "I swear, they get worse every year," she muttered.

James shook his head slowly. "Any idea what it's about?" he asked his son warily.

Harry shrugged. "I heard 'mine', 'I want it', and 'give it here' and decided I didn't want to get involved."

James rolled his eyes.

"James!" Lily shouted from downstairs, sounding furious. "Get down here!"

James winced, glancing at Alan as he hesitated.

"**James**!"

"I'll be right back," he promised at last, giving Alan a look that was both reassuring and warning at the same time. He eyed Harry briefly before hurrying downstairs to find out what all the commotion was about.

Harry watched his father go for a moment with a mild expression as he slowly closed the door behind him. Apparently satisfied, he flopped down on his bed to reguard Alan thoughtfully.

Alan blinked back at him, frowning slightly. "Didn't he say he'd be right back?"

Harry shrugged, looking disinterested. "He won't. The midgets will keep them busy for awhile, so you by the time he finally comes back you can pretend to be asleep. I'll run interference for you for the rest of hols until we finally head back to school."

Alan gave him an odd look. "Why?"

There was a long pause, and at last Harry sighed. "There's a lot I want to say to you, especially now," he admitted. "And I'm sort of mad Mum and Dad interrupted us. But I saw the look on your face when they knocked, and I ... " He sighed again, rolling over onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "We've got a lot to talk about," he said again finally. "But you're not ready to talk yet. So I'll wait until you are. You're not getting out of it," he added, turning his head to glare at Alan briefly. "We're still going to talk about all this at some point. But I can wait until you've had a little more time to deal with everything that's been happening."

There was a long moment of silence as Alan regarded him. "Who told you not to push?" he asked finally.

Harry gave him an affronted look. "What makes you think I hadn't realized you needed space all on my own?"

Alan stared at him.

Another moment, and at last Harry broke into a sheepish grin. "All right, all right. I was advised to let you be while you work through things on your own, and that you'd talk about it when you were ready. I wasn't going to, because I didn't think it was that big a deal, but. Well."

Alan frowned a little again. "Who told you that?"

Harry hesitated. "John," he confessed quietly. "He left not long after you did. He thought you might want some space from everyone, and told us to let you be for awhile. Scott wasn't too happy about it, but he finally agreed."

For a long moment, Alan lay quietly, blinking over at his friend.

_"I have absolutely no interest in the Boy-Who-Lived."_

_"They stole the most precious possession our family had, and we never got it back."_

_"It's because you remind me of my brother,"_

_"Wouldn' a had anythin' to do with it at all if it weren't fer your brothers - "_

_"Because I like you, kiddo. And I care about you."_

_Tall and fit, with blond hair and blue-eyes the same shade as Alan's. _

_An older, slightly distorted reflection in a mirror._

_"You must be Alan. It's great to finally meet you again."_

"I'm going to take a nap," he muttered finally, rolling over and pulling the blankets up around him. He stared at the wall in front of him for several minutes, trying not to think. Trying not to remember John's face, offered hand, his warm smile. The easy and affectionate way all four Tracy brothers had treated one another.

"What'd you bribe the twins with?" he mumbled abruptly.

There was a pause.

"A knut each," Harry said finally, sounding smug. "They really need to learn how to bargain properly. I'd have given them five."

Alan made a noise of acknowledgement and closed his eyes.


	25. Solving the Puzzle

I sincerely apologize for the amount of time it's taken for me to update this again. Originally the delay was because I'd joined the National Novel Writing Month challenge and was focusing on my novel. Unfortunately, I also found myself dealing with some health issues. -Coughs awkwardly- Long story short, I've been bouncing in and out of the hospital three times in the last month. I'm not okay, but I'm working on finding out what's wrong. In the meantime it's been making it akward to write (and in some cases, remember **what** I was writing _about_ x.x), but I promise that while updates may continue to be slow, they **will** still be coming. I love this story and my future plans for it too much to abandon it now.

This chapter seriously not supposed to happen yet. I totally planned to avoid this scene until at **least** Second Year. But Tracys are stubborn, Alan is smart, and Virgil is persistent and sensitive. -Glares at them- Thank you both for ruining my plans. I have no idea how the rest of the year is going to progress now.

I dedicate this to all the people who have been anxiously awaiting it. I hope it meets your approval. ^_~

Chapter 24: Solving the Puzzle

Returning to Hogwarts was strangely relieving. Harry had managed to keep his parents from cornering Alan alone as he'd promised, and even the twins had helped, but he'd seen James frowning at him more than once. Lily had acted upset more than anything, and it had become hard to look her in the eyes. Sirius, Remus, and Peter, who all seemed to practically live at the Potters' house, hadn't tried to talk to him beyond casual conversation thankfully, but he'd received more than one odd look from them as well.

Everyone dropped them off at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters just as they had at the beginning of the term, wishing him and Harry well. This time it wasn't just Lily who hugged him, but both twins and Aurora, while James squeezed his shoulder and Sirius and Remus each shook his hand. Peter had patted them both absently before heading for the staff car, ignoring Sirius' shouts about being a workaholic.

This time however, when Scott joined them he brought Virgil and Gordon with them. Everyone acted as if it was an ordinary occurrence, and they all pointedly ignored John's absence, as Alan was now aware that it had been him he'd seen on the platform the last time, saying his goodbyes to his younger brothers. Alan made a point to stand away from all three of them, and was on the train shortly after the whistle blew before Scott could do more than wish him well.

His mind was still reeling over what seeing John had done to him. Thoughts whirled through faster than he could really hold on to any of them. Scott had blue eyes. They were a bit darker than his, but still. Scott and Virgil both had brown hair. Gordon ... well, Gordon's hair was all wrong - more like Aunt Lily and the twins' - but he had the same eyes and build as Virgil. And John -

He tried to force himself to pay attention to his friends as they joined him. Draco was bragging about all the presents he'd received this Christmas, and shortly after got into an argument with Harry about whose presents were the best. Pansy rolled her eyes, petting her cat and chatting absently with Neville and Blaise.

Well, she talked with Neville and tried to convince Blaise to pull his head out of his newest book to talk to them, at least.

Greg was oddly subdued, leaning on Vincent with his eyes closed. Vincent was watching him with a sad expression, and every once in awhile his hand would come up to touch Greg's head. Neither of them spoke much.

Alan was tempted to ask what was wrong, but then he remembered his own holiday and decided he wouldn't have wanted anyone asking him about it, either.

Thankfully they were returning to school on Saturday, so Alan had the rest of the day and all of Sunday to do as he liked before he had to deal with classes. The Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch match wasn't until next weekend, which gave him plenty of time to himself. He spent most of that night trying to avoid his friends and forcing himself to do homework in an effort not to think.

It failed miserably.

Avoiding his friends only seemed to be working because Harry had said something to them, as he'd caught them all watching him carefully over dinner. They didn't speak to him other than Harry and Neville asking him to pass along food, and Harry was excellent at making sure no one else bothered him either. Not that most of the other Gryffindors spoke to any of them often anyway, seeing as they always spent their meals turned to the Slytherin table so they could talk to their friends. Other Gryffindors besides Virgil and Gordon, at least.

Alan dropped his head against the table with a quiet groan. He couldn't stop thinking about them. About any of it, really. Hagrid's words. The odd things Scott said. James and Lily's behavior. John's face.

He stood abruptly, and Neville nearly fell off the bench with a squeak of surprise. Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed the back of Neville's collar, shoving him back into his seat.

"Alan?" Harry questioned, looking up at him warily.

"I'm not hungry anymore," he muttered, already heading for the door. "I'm going for a walk."

No one followed him.

* * *

He wandered for some time, not looking for any particular direction. He was out long enough that he got into another minor fight with a pair of students, but this time it wasn't as bad as the first time they'd ganged up on him and he managed to escape with only a black eye and a split lip. The fight left him in an even worse mood than before, and he continued to walk around the castle, turning sharp corners and ducking through doorways to avoid people whenever he thought he heard someone coming.

Inevitably, this eventually led him to a very familiar unused classroom with a large mirror leaning against one wall.

He stood in the doorway, staring at the mirror for several minutes. At last he took a slow, careful step toward it, hesitating just before he was close enough to see his own reflection. Would this really help anything? He still wasn't quite sure what the mirror was trying to show him, just that it wasn't an ordinary mirror. What was seeing himself alone and ordinary, something he'd never been and always desperately wanted, going to do?

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped forward.

It took him several minutes of standing there to gather the courage to reopen his eyes. He still didn't know what he was expecting, or what he thought the mirror was going to change. He just couldn't bring himself to walk away.

But when he finally opened his eyes again, the image in the mirror had changed.

His reflection was still standing opposite him looking relaxed and carefree. There was no wand in his hand and no scar on his forehead. But now instead of being surrounded by a crowd of strangers that ignored him, he was surrounded by the four Tracy brothers. Each of them looked down at him with fond and affectionate expressions, all standing close together, as if they wanted to be as physically close to him as they possibly could.

On Scott's opposite side stood a man he had never seen before with dark hair and brown eyes. He kept one arm around a tall, beautiful woman with golden blond hair and eyes the same shade of blue as his own. Both of them were smiling down at his copy warmly, as if nothing else in the mattered to them in the world.

Her eyes were also the same shade as the reflection of John, he noted distantly.

Distantly he felt it when his back hit the wall, and he knew when he slid down to sit on the floor. But everything was sort of hazy, and his breath was coming in short wheezing sounds, like when he'd broken his ribs fighting the troll. The memory of the troll reminded him of Gordon, Virgil, and Scott's concern when he'd been hurt, and he hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face in his arms.

He wasn't stupid. He knew what everything was pointing towards. He knew what they'd been trying to tell him, but had been so afraid to. He knew why the Potters and the Tracys were close, why Scott Tracy had come to help James and Sirius rescue him from the Ministry. He knew why Virgil always seemed to be keeping an eye on him, why Gordon wanted to know him better. Why John had been so insistent on visiting the Potters this Christmas.

The familiar ache deep in his chest was back. His face felt wet, but he couldn't bring himself to wipe the tears away. He was being handed everything he'd ever wanted on a plate, and it was still all so wrong.

He had a family he couldn't acknowledge because who knew what the Ministry would do to keep them away from him. He had relatives who claimed to worry about him that he still wasn't sure if he could trust. He had a father who didn't even know he existed, and never would.

He had brothers who wanted to know him when he didn't even know who he _was_, outside of the BWL. He didn't know how to act around them, or what they expected from him. He barely knew what a family was to know how to be part of one.

" ... Alan?"

The voice was sudden, but spoke so softly he didn't jump. He tensed when a hand touched his back lightly, but didn't move. "Hey. Are you all right?"

He snorted wetly.

There was a pause, and a quiet sigh. "**Physically**. Are you **physically** all right?"

He considered that for a few minutes. He wasn't in pain, but he wasn't sure if the black eye and split lip counted as being physically all right. "More or less," he muttered finally.

Another hand moved to his chin, slowly lifting his face to meet Virgil's. The older boy frowned, looking over the marks. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He shook his head.

Virgil hesitated, eyeing him as if he didn't quite believe him, but at last let go of his chin. He looked at Alan for a long moment before at last sitting on the ground beside him. "So you found the mirror," he said eventually.

Alan glanced at him.

Virgil looked back at him and shrugged a shoulder before returning his gaze to the mirror on the other side of the room. "Being Head Boy means I have to patrol the halls at night before I can go to sleep," he explained. "I came across this thing just before we left for Christmas and asked Dumbledore about it."

"And he actually told you?" Alan asked skeptically.

Virgil smiled slightly. "Dumbledore isn't always known for giving straight answers, but he does give them when he thinks it's safe to. He told me this is called the Mirror of Erised."

"Erised?" Alan echoed.

"It's in the title. See?" Virgil pointed to the inscription at the top. "It's actually pretty simple when you realize the code."

"What code?"

"That's not a foreign language. It's actually just some letters rearranged to make it harder to understand."

Alan eyed him warily.

Virgil chuckled softly. "Look at the words again. Try reading it backwards."

Backwards?

Alan gave him another odd look before glancing up at the lettering again. _Ishow .. no ... tyo ... urfac ... ebu ... tyo ... urhe ... arts ... desire - wait, desire?_

He blinked, squinted, and tried again.

"I ... show ... not ... your face but ... your hearts desire," he read slowly, feeling stupid. Then he blinked again. "Your hearts desire?" he repeated with a frown.

Virgil nodded. "This mirror shows you the thing you want most in the world."

His frown deepened. "The thing you - "

Alan froze.

He had seen himself, alone and ordinary, when he was lonely and frustrated by the label of the BWL. And when he was upset and confused and wanted to know the truth, it showed him with a family. It showed him with the Tracys.

He closed his eyes, willing himself not to start shaking. "What do you see?" he asked finally. His voice came out softer than he'd wanted it to be.

There was a pause. "I see myself with my family," Virgil said finally, equally quiet. As if speaking too loudly would break the sudden feeling in the air. "I see both of my parents alive, and all four of my brothers together. I see us as a family again."

Silence lingered. Alan knew what he needed to say, knew he'd never know until he finally asked. He knew Virgil wouldn't say it for fear of scaring him away. And he had to know. But he was so, so scared of the answer.

"You're my brother," he whispered finally, eyes still shut tight. "Aren't you?"

For several heartbreaking moments, he thought Virgil wasn't going to answer. Was he wrong? Was he not related to them? Was he right, and they were related, but ... but they didn't want him after all?

At last an arm slowly came around him, and a body pressed closer. "Yes," Virgil breathed.

His eyes remained closed even as tears slowly began to slip down his cheeks again, and Virgil pulled him into a careful hug. They stayed closed as he tried awkwardly to return the hug, and Virgil squeezed him tighter. One of them was trembling, but he couldn't tell which one. He didn't care.

They remained that way for a long time.


	26. Questions Answered and Not

The idea of four-year-old Gordon's dislike of Alan stealing all his attention comes from Phx's adorable Better Baby Brudders, which can be found at: www. fanfiction. net/s/5315892/1/Better_Baby_Brudders (Remove the spaces)

This chapter is totally the reason – well, one of many - that it's taken me so long to update this story. Alan, Virgil, and Gordon **refused** to talk to each other for some reason. –Glares and kicks them- But I finally managed to beat them somewhat into submission. Still not sure if I'm entirely happy with it, but I'm open to suggestions and constructive criticism.

Chapter 25: Questions Answered and Not

Sunday morning dawned conspicuously quiet, and Alan lay in bed for at least an hour before breakfast, trying to decide if last night had been a dream or not, and if he wanted it to be.

If he did have a family - a _family_, for Merlin's sake - there were so many things to worry about. How to keep them safe from the Ministry, for one. If the Ministry thought there was something 'odd' about him, odd enough to run tests in hopes of finding out what it was, what was to say they wouldn't do the same with his brothers? What would his brothers think if they knew that there **was** something odd about him that no one could figure out? Would they still want him? What if they didn't? What if they changed their minds as soon as they found out how socially inept he was, how he was supposed to have saved the Wizarding World but he didn't know _how_, that, that -

Merlin's beard, what if they only wanted the BWL, too?

A hand wrapped on one of his bedposts shortly before pulling his curtains open. He blinked up at Harry, who was still dressed in his nightclothes and eying him suspiciously. "You know," Harry informed him, "I can hear you thinking from the other side of the room."

Alan rolled his eyes. "You can not."

"Can too," Harry retorted, plopping himself on Alan's bed without invitation. "You move around a lot in your sleep. As soon as you've gone quiet I know it's because you're awake and brooding."

"He's right you know," Neville offered tentatively, poking his head around one of the open curtains. "You do go quiet when you're thinking."

Alan stayed silent, staring down at his bedspread.

"Does this have to do with why you came in so late last night?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Alan's head snapped up to stare at him, eyes wide. "What?"

Harry frowned at him. "You came in a few hours after midnight. I was sure you'd been busted by Flitch or something for being out so late, but you just went straight to bed."

His heart began to pound. Did that mean it was true? Had last night really happened? Was Virgil ... were the Tracys really ... ?

"I-I'm not sure," he stammered finally, swallowing hard. "I ... it's all a bit ... hazy."

There was a moment of silence as they both stared at him.

"Maybe you're hungry?" Neville suggested. "You didn't eat much dinner last night. I'm sure things will seem much clearer after you've got something in your stomach."

Harry gave Neville an amused glance. "Careful, Nev. You're starting to sound like Greg."

Neville made a face at him.

Alan blinked for a moment. Breakfast. Virgil would be at breakfast. Virgil could tell him if last night was a dream. Virgil could tell him what to do now.

"Yeah," he said at last, slowly moving to climb out of bed as he swallowed awkwardly. "Breakfast sounds good."

* * *

It was amazing how tasteless food could be when you're nervous.

Pansy was frowning, poking at him to eat more, while Draco kept demanding to know why he had bags under his eyes. "Don't you sleep at all?" he persisted, shortly before turning to glare at Harry. "You're supposed to be keeping an eye on him. Doing a shoddy job of it lately, aren't you?"

Harry's eyes widened in indignation, and Alan and Neville both immediately scooted away from them.

"It's a little early for you two to be fighting already, isn't it?" came an amused voice.

Alan tensed, swallowing awkwardly as he glanced up.

Virgil stood behind Harry, looking vaguely amused as he often did whenever he came to break up one of Harry and Draco's fights. Hovering just behind his shoulder was Gordon, shifting his weight back and forth and looking oddly nervous. Gordon's eyes flickered to Alan's, staring at him for several moments, until Alan finally looked away.

_Not a dream then_, he thought weakly, feeling nauseous.

" - never too early for an argument," he heard Harry say distantly. "And we're not arguing. Draco's being a prat."

"I am not," Draco shot back, sounding distinctly offended. "I'm asking why Harry isn't upholding his duties with Alan. He looks terrible, and it's supposed to be Harry's job to make sure that doesn't happen. Obviously he's been slacking, and I want to know why."

"I have not been slacking!" Harry snapped.

"I don't need looking after," Alan cut in, annoyed. "By anyone. And I'm fine."

Draco, Pansy, Harry, Neville, and even Blaise, Greg, and Vincent from across the table, all turned to look at him.

He rolled his eyes, getting up from the table. "I'm not hungry anymore," he grumbled as he headed for the door, ignoring Neville's worried frown.

He'd only made it just down the hall when he heard Virgil call his name. For a moment he stopped, closing his eyes as his heart began to pound. Did he really want to do this? Did he **really** want to know? Wouldn't it be so much easier to just pretend last night was a dream?

He let out a long, quiet sigh. It would. But Alan Sheppard had never been a coward, and he wasn't about to start now.

He turned around slowly, mentally steeling himself. Virgil watched him with an expression of concern, while Gordon still looked like he was about to bounce out of his trainers. Briefly he debated letting Virgil be the one to make the first move before shoving the thought away. It was best to deal with this now. "Maybe we should go somewhere more private?" he suggested carefully, his eyes flickering toward the Great Hall.

Virgil nodded. "I know a good place," he offered, stepping on Gordon's foot when he started to say something. They scowled at one another briefly. "Follow me," he said finally, ignoring Gordon's audible huff behind him.

They walked in silence. Gordon, Alan realized immediately, was not subtle. At all. He kept glancing at Alan every few minutes, and it was clear by the expression on his face he wanted to say something. Virgil on the other hand, kept shooting glares at him to keep him quiet, while deliberately ignoring Alan.

Did that mean that Virgil was regretting what he'd said last night? Maybe he wished he hadn't told Alan he was right? What if he wanted to take it back now, pretend it never happened? What if he'd lied, and they really weren't brothers, but he hadn't wanted to make Alan feel bad?

Alan gave himself a mental shake. Now he was just being ridiculous. He clearly remembered the way Virgil had hugged him last night for over an hour, never once acknowledging the fact that Alan was obviously in tears. Even when they'd separated to head for their own rooms, Virgil had given him another hug and told him good night with a warm smile.

Someone who wanted to pretend it had never happened wouldn't have held on to him for so long. They wouldn't have tracked him down before breakfast was even halfway finished, let alone offered a private place to talk things over. And if he hadn't wanted to acknowledge what Alan now knew, he would never have bothered telling Gordon.

"_An die Freude_."

Alan blinked, drawn sharply back to his thoughts at the realization that they were standing in front of a door. He gave Virgil an odd glance as it swung open. "'Ode to Joy'?" he repeated, frowning.

Virgil looked faintly surprised, even as he gestured for them to go ahead. "You speak German?"

Alan shrugged a shoulder. "I've had a lot of free time on my hands," he explained simply, even as he wondered why Virgil had chosen that particular phrase at all. He stepped over the entryway before either of them could do more than look confused, swiftly glancing around for entries and exits, as well as possible dangers.

The room was small, but filled with comfortable, overstuffed furniture. The walls were decorated in Gryffindor red and gold, but several photographs had been placed around the room to distract from the burst of color, as well as a few paintings of scenery. Only two doors other than the one they one they'd entered through, one on each side of the large window overlooking the lake. An easel had been set up between the main window and the door to the right side, curtains drawn back to let in as much light as possible. A pair of bookshelves covered the one area that was free of pictures, with a small writing desk set up between them and the door on the left side. Just to the side of the door by the easel was a strange, black bar on a stand that Alan had never seen before. The design of it somehow reminded him vaguely of a piano, and he wondered what it was for.

Gordon wasted no time in flinging himself onto one of the armchairs, glancing around for a moment before stopping to nod at a beautiful scene of a white beach stretched across a crystal blue ocean hung on the wall. "New piece, Virge?"

Virgil nodded absently, moving over to a box on one of the side tables. "I was thinking about home the other day, and I couldn't get the south beach out of my mind. It's just a rough base for now, until I can go back for some better ideas."

"You **painted** that?"

Alan struggled to suppress the sudden feeling of heat rushing to his face as both teens turned to look at him, forcing himself to reign in his discomfort. Virgil seemed almost equally embarrassed at the question, but Gordon immediately lit up with a bright grin. "Of course he did. Our Virgil's an real artist," he told Alan cheerfully. "He draws, paints, composes, plays ... just about anything you can think of." The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

"It's just a hobby," Virgil murmured, ignoring Gordon's snort as he turned back to the box he'd been reaching for. "Are either of you hungry?" he offered, pulling out an odd brightly colored bag that crinkled as it moved.

"Always!" Gordon returned brightly. "Got any dip?"

Virgil rolled his eyes, shaking his head even as he pulled out a few other strange packages Alan couldn't identify. "It's not a fridge, Gordon. If you want dip you'll have to figure out something else."

Gordon pouted, even as he reached out to snag one of the bags. "Want some, Alan?" he added belatedly, opening the bag with a sharp pop.

Alan hesitated before shaking his head. If he didn't know what it was, it was probably a better idea not to eat it. "No, thank you."

There was an awkward pause as Gordon dug into ... whatever he was eating, and Virgil settled uncomfortably onto the couch across from Alan's chair as he stared at them both. At last Virgil cleared his throat. "Well," he began, folding his hands together and swallowing hard as he looked up at Alan. "I'm not really sure where to start," he admitted. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions for us, and I know we have plenty of questions for you ... "

"Why?" Alan interrupted as he trailed off.

Virgil looked up again, blinking. "Sorry?"

"Why would you have questions for me?" he clarified, holding in a sigh. At the rate they were all communicating, he'd never learn **anything**. Besides, what could they possibly want to know that hadn't already been published in the newspapers or one of his biographies?

There was another long silence as they both stared at him. Gordon had actually frozen with one hand halfway to his mouth, something small, round, and greasy-looking clenched in his fingers as he gawked. Eventually he blinked for a moment before lowering his hand as he burst out "Because you're our brother and we love you, we **missed** you, and we want to know about the things in your life we weren't there for, that's why!"

"Gordon," Virgil interrupted, silencing the red-head with a shake of his head. Gordon looked like he wanted to protest, but Virgil gave him another look and he subsided.

Instead Virgil sighed quietly, turning to meet Alan's blank stare. "Alan ... I know this may be hard for you to believe right now, but losing you to the Ministry was never something we **wanted** to happen. We spent - " He faltered, shaking his head slightly. "God, **years**, trying to find where you were. We tried every spell and trick we could think of to figure out a way to get to you. But ... we just ... we weren't good enough."

The right thing to do would have been to say it wasn't their fault, that he didn't blame them. That it had been the Ministry who had kept him hidden for so long. That he forgave them, or at least that he appreciated that they'd tried to find him at all. That just knowing someone had been looking for him made it okay.

But it didn't. And he couldn't.

"How did it happen?" he asked instead, staring at the floor. He knew all the stories - how he'd managed to destroy You-Know-Who had only a year old, how his parents had died but he'd somehow managed to survive - but stories weren't always true, especially now. Especially when no one had ever really seemed to know how he'd done it. And the one thing he'd always wanted to know was **why**. Why _him_.

Virgil let out a slow breath. "Mom and Dad both worked for the Ministry of Magic. Dad was in Charms Research and Development, while Mom worked for the Department of Ministries. They weren't - " He stopped again, swallowing. "They weren't out on the front lines or anything. Mom didn't like the idea of being away from home any longer than she had to, and Dad always said that he'd do what he could **when** he could, but family always comes first." A faint, sad, smile touched the corner of his mouth. "That's why no one knew about you when you were born," he explained. "There'd been rumors going around of Death Eaters hunting down young children for some reason, and they decided it'd be safer if they just didn't tell anyone when you were born."

"Aunt Lily knew," Gordon interrupted, looking solemn. "Mom never really said why, but we always figured it had something to do with them both being pregnant around the same time. It was Aunt Lily's first baby, but not Mom's. And with everything going on ... " he trailed off with a shrug.

Alan wasn't entirely sure what Gordon was trying to suggest, but he supposed maybe the two women had been trying to offer each other moral support. It couldn't have been easy to be pregnant in wartime.

Assuming any of this story was true, of course.

"Anyway," Virgil continued, "Everything seemed to be fine, for awhile. You were born perfectly healthy, Mom was fine, Dad couldn't be prouder ... " He paused to shoot Gordon a faint grin. "Gordy finally stopped trying to hide you somewhere in hopes we'd all forget about you."

"I was **four**," Gordon huffed, reaching into his bag of strange food again. "I think I was entitled to a little jealousy over not being the center of everyone's attention anymore."

Virgil made a non-committal noise, turning away from Gordon's glare as he tried to hide a smile. It faded as his thoughts cleared, turning into yet another sigh. "The Halloween after you'd just turned a year old, you'd been sick. So Mom stayed home with you, while Dad took the rest of us out to have some fun and get us out of the house for awhile. We didn't even realize anything was wrong until - " He broke off, looking away and closing his eyes as tears welled.

"We came home to bodies and blood all over your room," Gordon spoke up softly, looking haunted. "We could kind of guess who the charred guy was, but Mom ... " He swallowed, blinking hard as he whispered. "She looked like she was sleeping."

"You ... " Virgil cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded thick. "You were sitting on the floor just behind where the crib had fallen over, with blood dripping down your head. You were crying, but ... it was so quiet. And when we all came running in behind Dad to see what'd happened, you just ... held your arms up and asked for Scott. You didn't yell, didn't scream. Just ... " He shrugged, blinking rapidly for a moment as he reached over to squeeze Gordon's hand on the armrest of the chair beside him.

Alan digested this for several minutes. It was more detail than anyone else had ever been able to give him, but it still didn't explain anything. How had he killed You-Know-Who? How had his mother died? Why was there blood everywhere? Why hadn't he tried to get away, or screamed, or wailed? Why had he just ... waited?

"Three days later, the Ministry came." Virgil's voice was suddenly hard and cold, and Alan looked up at him in surprise. "Dad was suspicious for some reason, but he never said why ... just told the four of us to hide and stay hidden. Told Scott to keep us there until he said it was safe. It was quiet for awhile, and then the next thing we knew Dad was shouting that they couldn't do this. Something about the safety of the Wizarding World, but Dad didn't care." He raised his eyes to meet Alan's again, and something in them seemed lost. He shrugged a shoulder. "That's when they _obliviated_ him and left with you."

The silence lingered once again, and Alan wondered. It made sense on some level, in the sense that it explained how he could be stolen away without anyone else noticing. But there were still so many other things they hadn't explained at all.

"Dad never believed us when we tried to tell him about you." Gordon's voice was abrupt, and there was a raw undertone of something Alan couldn't identify. He stared blankly at the floor, bag of food forgotten as he continued to grip Virgil's hand. "He thought you were something I made up, because I wanted a little brother and the other guys were just playing along. He started telling them to stop encouraging me, and said that it was time for me to grow up." He paused, eyes darkening. "We stopped trying to convince him after that."

"Johnny always thought it was because Dad just couldn't believe that he'd ever forget one of his kids," Virgil explained quietly, watching Alan even as his grip on Gordon's hand tightened. "Because he loves us so much, it just ... he couldn't imagine losing one. And when he was already grieving for Mom ... " He trailed off, swallowing again.

"Is that why you moved out of England?" Alan asked at last. His voice was bland and unemotional, but inwardly he was raging.

Virgil nodded once. "Dad couldn't stand the memories, so he packed us all up and moved to America. But Scott was already enrolled at Hogwarts by that point, and Mom had always wanted us all to go, so ... " He sighed. "Eventually Scott asked Uncle James and Aunt Lily if they would be his guardians while he was in England, so he ended up spending winter holidays with them and then coming home to be with us during the summer. It worked out well enough that we all stuck with it."

"Which sucked when you had to be the one left behind with Dad," Gordon muttered bitterly, ignoring the look Virgil gave him.

Alan digested this. "So that's how Uncle James and Aunt Lily knew about me?"

Virgil nodded again. "Harry doesn't know the whole story," he added abruptly, even though Alan hadn't actually asked. "He knew you were related to the family, and that we were trying to get you away from the Ministry, but he never knew why or ... well, everything behind it." He looked slightly uncomfortable.

So his best friend was just an idiot instead of a liar. Well, wasn't that reassuring.

"I need some time," he said at last, moving to stand. "I ... I just need to think about this for awhile."

Gordon looked like he was about to protest, but Virgil silenced him with another hand squeeze and nodded. "Take all the time you need, Alan," he promised gently. "And if you have any other questions, feel free to ask us. Any time."

He nodded stiffly, moving for the door before he could lose what was left of his control. He wasn't sure where he was going or what he would do next; just that it wasn't here. Just that it would be somewhere he could be alone.

He stopped with one hand on the door, just as he was about to push it open. " ... What's my name?" he asked suddenly, almost too soft to be heard.

There was a pause.

"Alan Sheppard Tracy," he heard Virgil answer. "You were named after one of the Mercury Seven Astronauts."

He gave another short nod, pushing the door open and letting it shut quietly behind him. _Well, at least one thing is still the same_, he thought dully as he wandered off down the corridor. Distantly, he wondered what an 'astranot' was.


End file.
